


The Way To Her Heart

by GentleRed (ChatDuNoir)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, F/F, Romance, Slight underage, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2019-11-08 19:50:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 53
Words: 236,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17987534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChatDuNoir/pseuds/GentleRed
Summary: Follows the tumultuous relationship between two very different women. Celine is a seventeen year old teenager, confused and struggling with the aftermath of a car accident.Greta is a sophisticated older woman Celine has a habit of running into. To Celine, Greta is the epitome of perfection, but not everything is what it seems, and Celine is drawn an very adult world when she becomes more and more fascinated with the alluring, mysterious Greta. Who is she, and what secrets does she hold?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, hello, hello!  
> This is my first stab at posting a "Orginal Work" here. I hope you'll be gentle with it :D

Chapter 1

 

Did I even want to do this? 

That was the real question. 

I frowned as I glanced at myself in the mirror. My blonde hair fell forward slightly as I bent down to pick up a straying hair tie. 

No. 

No, I didn’t want to do this. 

But I didn’t have much of a choice. 

Hannah and Michelle had insisted.

Insisted, that tonight was “girl’s night”. 

I sighed as I tied my hair back in a ponytail. I knew what girl’s night meant. A smoke-filled bar. Dancing. Well, not really dancing. Dancing used as an excuse for the guys to grind against us. Drinking. Lots of it. Colorful drinks and Hannah and Michelle triumphing over getting away with underage drinking. 

I sighed again and brushed a hand over my dark jeans. For some reason, it meant very little too me. All of it. The drinking. The dancing. None of it really spoke to me anymore. 

Hannah and Michelle kept claiming that I was “growing moldy”, but I saw absolutely nothing wrong with wanting to stay home and watch Netflix.  
I was a middle aged woman stuck in a seventeen year old teenagers’ body. 

I pulled a tanktop over my head. Black jeans and white tanktop. Possibly not the most festive outfit, but it would have to do for tonight. I wasn’t in party mood, and my clothes might as well reflect that.  
I tied my boots and fixated a few strand hairs behind my ears. There. This was definitely the best I could do for tonight. 

I grabbed my jacket and purse and scurried out of the door. Might as well get this thing over with at once. 

It was very practical of Hannah and Michelle to having chosen this bar. It was conveniently close to where I lived. It’ll be easy to go home then. 

Obviously, none of them were there when I stepped inside the bar. Fashionably late again. Both Hannah and Michelle liked arriving late. Liked turning heads. Or, Michelle did. Hannah wasn’t so bad.  
I didn’t. I was what you can call an introvert. I didn’t like drawing attention to myself. I preferred blending in. Blending in was good. Blending in was safe. 

I found an empty seat away from the “dance floor” and sat down. I had barely dumped my purse on the empty seat next to me when the bartender came over. 

“Strawberry Daiquiri,” I said, blurting out the first thing that came to mind.  
He didn’t comment on my choice. Nor did he ask to see an ID. I hadn’t expected him to. This place didn’t care about something as trivial as ID. That was what Hannah and Michelle had told me. Probably why they had chosen this place. 

Exactly two minutes and twenty six seconds later, the bartender came back with my drink. 

“Thanks,” I said. 

He didn’t answer. Apparently, this was not that kind of place. A shame, really. I liked the places where the bartenders chatted with their customers.  
But honestly, I don’t think I would have chosen to strike up a conversation with this particular bartender. He looked sketchy. As did the rest of the bar. 

I glanced at my watch again. I didn’t like the atmosphere in here. Really? And what kind of atmosphere do you like in a bar, then?  
No one. I didn’t like bars at all. 

I didn’t even know why I had said yes to this “girl’s night”. I wasn’t in a very good mood. But Hannah and Michelle had insisted. Claimed that “with all that’s happened, you deserve a night of fun.”

With all that’s happened. I guess they had a point there. These past six months hadn’t exactly been easy. I winced. When I closed my eyes, I could still hear the sound of metal colliding with metal. No doubt I wasn’t done “working through” what had happened. I probably suffered from untreated PTSD or something like that. 

I took a sip of the fruity drink in front of me. Glanced at my watch again. Took another sip. Hid a yawn behind my hand. I hadn’t been sleeping very good lately. I kept dreaming of the accident. Of the sound of metal crashing into metal. 

I tapped my fingers against the glass. Annoyed. What the hell took them so long? 

I fished my phone out of my pocket and sent a text to both Hannah and Michelle. “I’m here. You guys on the way?” 

Tjing-tjing. My phone made a rather charming sound, alerting me of the newly arrived text from Hannah.  
“Running late. Major dress crisis. Order a drink and flirt with someone who doesn’t deserve it.”  
I rolled my eyes. Dress crisis. Both of them? Knowing Michelle, she was probably on the brink of a hysteric fit over having lost her shoe or something like that. I loved them both, but they were definitely not neat freaks. I often thought to myself, that Hannah always insisting on picking up Michelle was a very bad idea. They always ended up being late because of it. 

I took another sip of my fruity drink. Flirt with someone who doesn’t deserve it, Hannah had encouraged me. I almost snorted. Who was she kidding? There were absolutely no promising “candidates” in here. And I wasn’t in the mood for flirting. I wasn’t in the mood for anything. It had been like that for a while, and it was beginning to worry me. Maybe I was more depressed than I thought. Maybe I needed help. Professional help. It was six months since “it” had happened, and I was still struggling.  
I always walked around with that flat feeling. That “busted balloon”-feeling. What month was this? January? Yes. January. Christmas had come and gone in a flash. I had barely noticed the most festive season of the year. 

How much longer? I silently wondered. How much longer was I gonna feel like some kind of walking corpse?  
I glanced at my watch. Then I found my phone again and sent a new text to Hannah. 

“How late are we talking? Ten minutes? Fifteen?” 

No answer this time. This could go both ways. Either they were on their way, or they were running really late. 

I nursed my fruity drink as I tried to quieten the vicious little voice in my head. If they’re not here in ten minutes, I’m out.  
I wasn’t keen on sitting here all night. I wanted to try and get some sleep tonight. Maybe a bit of alcohol would help with that. Maybe I would actually find sleep tonight. I hoped so. Insomnia had been my constant companion ever since the accident. 

I shifted slightly on my chair. Now I could watch the door. See when Hannah and Michelle arrived. 

I glanced at my watch again. tick, tock, tick, tock. 

Took a sip of my drink.

I want to go home, I want to go home, I want to go home.

I couldn’t. Hannah and Michelle wouldn’t be too thrilled about that. 

I waited. Ordered a second Strawberry Daiquiri. I wasn’t even particularly fond of those. But I didn’t want to be the only one who just sat here without drinking anything. I didn’t want to be the odd one.  
Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock. 

Come on, Hannah. Come on, Michelle. What is taking you so long? 

The bartender came over with my drink. This time I didn’t bother thanking him. 

Another minute passed. The urge to leave intensified. 

I didn’t. Instead I sat tight and waited. Took a sip of my brand-new drink. 

My jeans were too tight. Unfortunately, it was deemed “inappropriate” to wear yoga pants to a bar. 

I tapped my fingers against the glass again and wondered if it annoyed anyone or I was the only one who could hear it. 

Oh, god, get your asses out of the door already. Just wear some different shoes. Or no shoes. I don’t care. As long as you hurry the fuck up.  
I took another sip of my drink and groaned. Why were they always late? Why couldn’t they for once just…

“Hey there.”  
I looked up. That was definitely not Michelle or Hannah’s voice. 

It was a guy. Of course, it was. A guy with slicked back hair and a crooked smile. He was wearing a tight, black t-shirt and a pair of black jeans. He could almost have looked good. A pity he looked so damn cocky. So sure of himself. Tonight was his night, no doubt.  
“Hi.” I said flatly. I already knew what was coming. 

I was right. He promptly sat down without an invitation. Apparently, my completely un-enthusiastic “hi” was invitation enough.  
“Here alone?” he asked, and I noted he tried to make his voice appear deeper. 

“I’m meeting my friends,” I informed him. 

He smirked. He clearly didn’t believe me. 

“What are we drinking?” was his next brilliant question. 

I almost wanted to roll my eyes. If I could smell the strawberry coming from my drink, so could he.  
“Strawberry Daiquiri,” I said. 

He laughed. “Feel like trying something else?” he offered. “Something a bit more… adventurous?” 

“No thank you. I happen to like Strawberry Daiquiri,” I lied. 

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” he asked. 

“Not “sweetheart”.” I said dryly. 

He laughed, as if I had said a very funny joke. And then he moved closer to me. I was beginning to feel slightly uncomfortable. He was invading my personal space. He was getting too close.  
“Do you mind?” I said and squirmed away from him. 

Request denied. He “followed” and moved closer again. “Relax,” he said. “I’m just trying to be friendly.” 

I doubt it. 

“What’s your name, hmm?” he said and reached out. Whether he was attempting to caress my cheek or push a lock of hair behind my ear remained unclear. I jerked my head away from his fingers.  
He scowled, and I could see how his mood changed. He didn’t like this. I was being difficult. 

“You’re very beautiful,” he told me. New strategy. 

I didn’t respond to that. Instead I tried to get eye contact with the bartender.  
The bartender didn’t look my way. 

“Very beautiful,” he emphasized as to make it better. But I didn’t feel one bit flattered. I felt sick. I had just felt his hand brush over my knee under the table, and I did not like that one bit.  
I jerked my leg away so violently my knee bumped against the table. The sound exploded in my ear. Wheels screeching, metal hitting metal. 

He narrowed his eyes again. “Why are you acting like this? I’m just trying to be nice to you, that’s all.” 

“Sorry I’m late, sweetpea.” A soft, velvet-y voice proclaimed, and the next second, a pair of lips landed lightly on my cheek. 

I looked up, and to my utter confusion, I saw a woman standing right next to me. A beaming smile was plastered to her ruby lips, and she put a hand over my shoulder as she sat down. “Have you waited a long time?” 

I opened my mouth and she shot me a warning look. Be smart and play along.

“No,” I said and tried to recover from surprise of this strange woman’s sudden appearance. 

“Oh good,” she said with that rich, hoarse voice. “Traffic was awful tonight.” she reached a glove-clad hand across the table and took my hand. 

The guy stared. “Are you two together or something?” he spluttered. 

“Yes, wasn’t that fairly obvious, dear?” The unfamiliar woman purred. She kept her gaze fixated on me as she took off her gloves and then brought one of her hands up and adjusted her already perfectly styled curls. 

The guy looked exactly as taken aback as I felt. 

“I don’t think your company will be required. Goodbye.” The woman said. 

And, just like that, the guy got on his feet whilst muttering something that sounded like “lesbo”. 

But I on the other hand, felt how my shoulders uncurled. “Thanks,” I said to her. 

“I hope my liberties didn’t offend you,” she said. “You looked uncomfortable.” 

“I was,” I said truthfully. “That could have gotten really ugly.” 

“I’m glad I could be of any help.” She smiled. 

I returned the smile and as I took a closer look of my unlikely savior, my first thought was how much she looked like Lauren Bacall. Her light auburn hair was styled in perfect 1940 curls, her makeup consisted of red lipstick and cat eyes so perfect I could have cried, and she was wearing a fitted, red silk blouse with a tight, black pencil skirt.

“What are you doing here alone?” she asked and pulled me out of my trance. 

And spoke like Lauren Bacall. Almost the same, raspy voice. “I’m not alone,” I quickly said. “I’m with my friends.” 

“Lauren Bacall” raised an eyebrow and looked around. “And where are they?”  
“On their way. I hope.” 

“So you are alone.” 

Touché. I chuckled a little. 

So did she. 

I stole another glance at her. She looked… Well, perfect. Sophisticated. And definitely not the type to hang out in this bar. She didn’t fit in. 

She raised a perfectly sculped eyebrow, and I quickly came to the conclusion that I was staring rather unabashedly at her. Which was kind of rude. But I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t help looking into her eyes. That was the only thing that separated her from Lauren Bacall. Her eyes were blue. Ice blue. Completely mesmerizing. 

“Can I buy you a drink?” I suddenly heard myself ask. “As a thank you for coming to my aid.” I continued. I didn’t want to sound like a fool. 

“That’s very kind of you,” she said with that soft, melodic voice. “But I don’t drink. And I doubt this bar serves anything that’s alcohol free.” 

Honestly, that confused me a little. Why did she choose to come to a bar of all places if she didn’t drink? 

I looked at her again. I couldn’t help it. There were dark circles underneath her eyes, as if she had pulled an all-nighter like I often did because of my insomnia. 

“But thanks.” Wait, I’ve already said that. Maybe you should try and say something that isn’t a repeat of what you’ve already said.

“I’m Celine,” I said dumbly and outstretched my hand to her. 

She seemed surprised, and honestly, so was I. Normally, I wasn’t so polite. 

“Celine,” she repeated and took my hand. 

Our hands connected. Where mine were warm from anxiety, hers were cold. 

“Greta,” she said so quietly I almost didn’t hear it. 

I smiled. Greta. It fitted her. Fitted her style. Like she had stepped out of some old movie. 

“Are your friends on the way?” she asked. 

I nodded. “I think so.” 

“Hmm,” she pursed her lips and scowled. Clearly, she didn’t like this. And honestly, I kind of understood that. This was a bar that happily served alcohol without asking for ID. I was seventeen, completely green, and had definitely no business being here. Greta could clearly see that.

“Are you sure I can’t buy you a drink?” I said. Just to say something. 

“I don’t normally drink,” she quietly reminded me. “But do you mind if I take a sip?” she nodded towards the Strawberry Daiquiri in front of me.  
“Oh, I…” I said, slightly befuddled over the odd request. “Sure.” 

“Thank you,” Greta said. She reached across the table, took the drink and placed the straw in between her lips. 

For some reason, I felt like I had to look away as she sipped my drink. I couldn’t quite explain why, but I averted my eyes and looked down at my hands. 

“Thank you, Celine.” she said softly and slid the drink back across the table.

“You’re welcome.” 

She flashed me a smile and I caught a glimpse of her perfect, white teeth. 

I opened my mouth to ask her something. I didn’t even know what. I was just looking for an excuse to hear her soft, raspy voice again. 

But before I could ask her anything, a minor explosion happed. A minor explosion vastly consisting of my friends arriving loudly and clearly over the moon to see me.  
“Celine!” Hannah squealed as Michelle threw her arms around me, completely squishing me. 

“So sorry about the delay,” Michelle said and rolled her eyes. “The traffic...” She didn’t finish the sentence. 

“It’s fine,” I quickly assured. I knew how terrible the Seattle traffic could be. “Uh, this is…” I said, fully prepared to introduce Hannah and Michelle to my unlikely, and ridiculously sophisticated rescuer.  
But the seat across me was empty. 

Greta was gone. 

I frowned. That was weird. She was there five seconds ago. 

“What is it?” Hannah asked and raised an eyebrow. “What’s that on your cheek?” 

“Nothing,” I said and wiped a hand over my cheek, removing all traces of red lipstick. 

Hannah and Michelle took my word for it. “Let’s order,” Michelle said briskly. “I’m not driving, and I want to get pissed.”  
Hannah quickly seconded that. 

But I looked out at the grey, foggy Seattle and wondered where my unlikely rescuer had gone........


	2. Chapter Two

During the two weeks I wondered. 

Wondered where my unlikely rescuer went.

And then I wondered why I cared so much. 

For some reason, I felt like I owed her. 

I wanted to thank her properly.

A quick sip of my drink seemed like very poor gratitude on my behalf.

Because things could have gotten really ugly with that guy. 

Greta’s sudden disappearance was a bit strange, too, and if I hadn’t been so embarrassingly sober, I would have questioned whether she was actually there or not. 

It wouldn’t be the first time I imagined things. My permanently sleep depraved state sometimes let to delusions on my part, but I was sure not even my brain was capable of making up a woman like Greta. 

She had been rather attractive, I was sure of that. Even though her appearance had been short, and the bar had been filled with smoke, I had no problem with remembering her face. Her high cheekbones, her ruby lips, and those perfect, ice blue eyes. 

If I hadn’t been so irritated over thinking of a woman I’ve literally had spent five minutes with, I would have been pleased. 

Because, finally, finally, my brain had found something else to think of at night instead of that damned accident. 

That accident and the screeching sound of the brakes failing. Metal crashing into metal. 

Instead, I was thinking of Greta when I really was supposed to be asleep. I kept thinking of her. Who she was, where she came from. And the way she just swooped in and more or less saved the day.   
I was still having raging insomnia, but my nights weren’t so terrible anymore. 

And I was both pleased and slightly disturbed. 

Because what business did I have thinking of a woman I had spent five minutes with? 

It was weird. I didn’t even know her. Most of my nightly thoughts consisted of people I actually knew. Not random strangers at bars.

Monday night, I felt so utterly exhausted. High school was a nightmare, and I hadn’t been sleeping at all. Most nights I was wide awake. I had tried everything. Therapy, soft music, counting sheep’s, even sleeping pills. Nothing worked. My insomnia was out of control.

I didn’t know what to do about it. And I didn’t know what to do about the flashbacks either. I’ve had them ever since I woke up in hospital. That’s when it had started. The flashbacks. The insomnia.   
And everyone kept telling me it wasn’t my fault. That I couldn’t have done anything to prevent it, and deep down I kind of knew that already, but I was barely capable of getting into a car without getting clammy.

I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to get through this properly. 

To my mom, it was a done deal. My injuries were healed, the cast had come off my leg two months ago. No harm, no foul.   
And I didn’t know how to tell her that I was still struggling. 

One of the therapists had suggested that I tried to write some of my thoughts down, and that was exactly what I was doing when the door to my room was pushed ajar and my mother stepped in.   
“Hi honey, what are you doing?” 

I quickly made the screen on my iPad go blank. 

“You know that dinner I mentioned to you?” she said without waiting for answer. 

“Yeah?” I had already heard quite a bit about that dinner already. Tonight, my mother was having dinner with her boss. A very important dinner that might just lead to a promotion at the hospital she was working.

“His son happens to be in town tonight,” my mother continued.   
“So?” 

“Could you be a sweetheart and take him to the movies?” 

I groaned. “Do I have to?” 

“It’s just for a few hours,” she said. “While his father and I talk business. I’m sure you wouldn’t find that interesting, would you?” 

She had a point. But still, going to the movies with some random dude was not on my “to do list” tonight. 

“Can’t he, I don’t know, entertain himself or something? Go to the movies alone?” 

My mother shifted slightly and fiddled with her hands. 

“You’ve already agreed on my behalf, haven’t you?” 

“I couldn’t say no,” she defended. “Not when he already paid for your tickets. It’s just for a few hours, Celine. Do this for me.”   
“You could at least have asked,” I muttered. 

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” my mother said, completely overhearing me. “It’ll be good for you. Get out of the house a little. He’s meeting you at the cinema at 7. Don’t be late.”   
With that she threw two tickets to the movies on the table and strutted out of the door. 

“It’s called the movies,” I mumbled to the closed door. “We’re not in bloody England!” 

My mother enjoyed acting all “posh” and speak with an accent from time to time. To make it look as if she was something she wasn’t. She always acted like she was a really big deal. A posh career woman.  
And technically, she kind of was. Climbing higher and higher on that metaphorical career ladder. 

Her career certainly filled everything. I think my first conscious thought was about her work. About her schedule. About how we rarely did “fun things” in the weekend because she had to work. 

By now, I was used to it. Used to my mother being someone who always was on her way out of the door. A post-it note saying good morning when I woke up. 

She was so focused on herself. So consumed with her career. My accident six months ago had been an inconvenience for her. She did come and see me when I was in the hospital, but I caught her glancing at her watch several times. 

I shook my head and took a closer look of the tickets she had left on my table. Please don’t let it be an action movie. I couldn’t do that tonight. All the loud noises would only mean one thing: flashbacks. Major flashbacks. 

I raised an eyebrow. Now slightly impressed. So, it wasn’t an action movie. It was a special showing of “Psycho”. Restored and with clearer image. Not bad. During some of my sleepless nights, I had begun watching Alfred Hitchcock’s movies. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be terrible after all. Not when it came movie choice at least. I knew exactly why my mother had agreed on my behalf. And it wasn’t for me. It was because it would look good. Her daughter and her boss’s son. That was her not so delicate way of fishing for a promotion. 

I scoffed a little as I opened my closet. If I was going to the “cinema”, I might as well dress up for the occasion. I could still remember the last time I had agreed to something like this. My mother had shot dagger eyes at me when I came down the stairs, dressed in boyfriend jeans and a band t-shirt. According to her, that was not appropriate. She didn’t exactly force me upstairs to change, but she did let me know how “disappointed” she was when I got home. 

Were to I had answered that she could have asked before setting me up with some strange guy.   
But of course, she didn’t listen. She never did. 

 

So, at 6:45 pm exactly, I was standing in front of the cinema, waiting for my date while my mom was discussing business with his father.

It was a chilly night and I rubbed my hands together as I waited. Then I shifted slightly to keep myself warm. I had decided to try and be optimistic about this. If the guy was Alfred Hitchcock fan, he couldn’t be half bad. 

I checked my iPhone to keep track of the time. That was when I heard it. Honking. Someone was honking. Next was yelling out of the window. Something about a “moron who didn’t know how to drive”. 

My palms turned clammy. My heart started thrumming in my chest. I couldn’t breathe. I saw it. I saw the car. I saw the car crashing, the splinters. Heard the crash. The sound of metal meeting metal. The tires screeching. 

“Celine?” 

My head snapped up and I opened my eyes. 

“Hey,” the guy in front of me said. “I’m Jeremy Jenkins.”

“Celine,” I said, quite unnecessarily. He already knew my name. 

We shook hands and exchanged the mandatory hello’s and how do you do’s. 

“Wow,” he said and shook his head a little. “I mean, your mom said you were beautiful, but…”

I didn’t know whether to be amused or feel sorry for Jeremy Jenkins. My mom had clearly given him a so-called sale’s speech. 

I went with polite. “Thank you. Wanna head inside?” 

He nodded, and we went inside. 

Jeremy insisted on buying popcorn for both of us. No nonsense. He insisted. He wanted to be the perfect gentleman. 

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I didn’t like popcorn. The salt always made my lips swollen and itchy, so I usually tried to steer clear of popcorn. 

I tried not to frown as we found our seats, but I could already sense what kind of night this was gonna be. The really awkward kind. None of us really wanted to be here, I could sense it. Jeremy Jenkins was kind and decent looking with sandy blonde hair and grey eyes, and he was really trying to make an effort. But it was obvious, that he had been forced to do this. Like me. 

I tried to stay optimistic, though. I doubted we would fall head over heels for each other by myself, but I remembered the promise I had made to myself about enjoying the night. Alfred Hitchcock was never a bad idea. And it was by far better than to be at home and brood. 

Jeremy and I tried to chat as we waited for the light to dim and the commercial to start. But the conversation didn’t go very smooth, so I ended up looking around as more and more people started to come in and find their seats. 

That was when I saw something. Or, someone. A familiar face of sorts. 

Well, face and face, I couldn’t exactly see her face, but I could see her hair. Her chestnut hair styled in those perfect 1940’s curls. 

I suddenly found myself stretching my neck, giving a perfect imitation of the giraffe. I was ninety nine percent sure that Greta had just walked into the cinema. 

And I was overwhelmed by a sudden urge to say her name. Just once. Just to be sure. Just to see her turn her head. Just to see her ice blue eyes again.

I watched as she sat down on the front row. Was she here alone? That was a bit odd. I suddenly wanted to leave my spot and find a seat next to her. I wanted to thank her again. And more importantly, I wanted to hear her speak. Just once. Had she really sounded like Lauren Bacall, or was my mind just playing tricks on me? 

I tried my utmost to get a look of her face. Was it really Greta? Or was it someone who just happened to style her hair exactly like her (and Lauren Bacall)?  
No. I didn’t believe that. It was Greta. It had to be Greta. 

The lights dimmed, and the commercials started. The front row and the rest of the seats were engulfed in darkness and I couldn’t see anything.

 

“Old movies will never be my thing,” was the first thing Jeremy said as the lights turned on again and people started pushing to get out of the cinema. 

Then why did you agree to this in the first place? 

“I thought it was fine,” I shrugged. “I like Alfred Hitchcock.” 

I think I’m more of an action kind of guy,” Jeremy smiled. 

I returned the smile. We had made it back into the hall along with the other people. I felt quite good after a night with The Master of Suspense, and I was strongly considering watching Vertigo when I got home. It wasn’t like I was gonna sleep or anything. I could handle two Alfred Hitchcock movies in a row. 

“Do you wanna grab a coffee somewhere?” Jeremy said.

“I can’t. I have to get up early tomorrow,” I lied. 

“Oh. Can I give you a ride home, then?”

“No!” I said immediately and cringed. My voice was definitely too loud. “It’s fine,” I amended. “I’ll just take a bus.” 

Jeremy didn’t argue. “Okay. I had a nice evening.”

How diplomatic of you. “Yeah, me too.”

I brushed aside his offer about waiting with me until the train arrived. I would be fine on my own. It was still light outside. He once again thanked me for a “nice evening”, and then he left.   
I glanced at my phone. There was around fifteen minutes until the train arrived. if I walked fast, I could make it. 

I counted on walking fast. I wasn’t interested in waiting thirty minutes for the next train. 

That was when I noticed that I had dropped my key. Damnit. It must have fallen out of my pocket when we left the cinema. Shit. Double shit. Without that key, I was pretty much screwed. I couldn’t exactly weasel through one of the windows to get in, and the idea of calling my mom and explain the situation was… less than appealing. 

And I couldn’t afford to call a cab.   
What to do, what to do? 

Did I really have to wait on the porch until my mom decided to come home?   
No way, I would do that. No. 

Apparently, Vertigo will have to wait, I thought to myself as I found my phone. I was gonna call Michelle and ask if I could hang there until my mom got back.   
I quickly dialed her number and waited. Nothing. Silence. And then the familiar: “Hey, this is Michelle, I’m probably out partying right now, but you know what to do. Leave a message after the beep.”   
Beep.

Fuck it. Another banner night. I should have stayed at home instead. Much safer.   
What the hell was I supposed to do now? 

Try Hannah, obviously. 

Phone out of pocket again. Dialing Hannah’s number. 

Waiting. 

Beep-beep. 

“Hey, you reached Hannah. I can’t get to the phone right now but leave me a message and I’ll get back to you.”  
Beep. 

God damnit. 

Now what? Should I try Michelle again or bite the unbelievably sour apple and call my mother? 

I tried Michelle again. Still no answer.   
Fuck.

Why did this always happen to me? I constantly lost my stuff everywhere. 

This is so not my night. 

“Excuse me?” 

I turned around and came face to face with Greta- because it was her. My assumption was correct, and I had no problem with recognizing that voice. 

“I think you dropped this?” she said and held out the key towards me.

“I- thanks,” I said, slightly befuddled. This was the second time she “saved my life” so to speak. 

I reached out and took the key from her. Our hands touched briefly. Her hand was cold again, I noted. 

She flashed me a little smile. The polite kind of smile you would flash a stranger, someone you accidentally make eye contact with in the street, and I felt a surprising pang of disappointment when I realized that she didn’t recognize me. 

I recognized her. She looked exactly as striking as the first time. She was wearing a black dress, a gold necklace and golden earrings. Her hair looked as well styled as it did in the bar. 

“Have a nice evening,” she said, and once again I was ever so slightly distracted by her voice. That raspy, low voice that sounded ever so slightly breathless.   
“Thank you.” I said. “You too.” 

She flashed me another smile, and just like that she headed out of the door before I got the chance to ask if she recognized me or not. Hey, remember me? I’m the girl you saved from getting assaulted. I let you take a sip of my drink as a thank you. 

And now I’m just staring at nothing, I realized and tore my gaze away from the open door. This was ridiculous. I had a bus to catch.   
I quickly shrugged my jacket back on as I went out of the door with the rest of the crowd. 

 

As expected, my mother wasn’t home when I got back, so I decided to skip dinner and go straight for desert instead. Two cookies and an apple. If I ate the apple first, I wouldn’t feel so guilty for eating the cookies. 

I curled up on the couch and tried to pay attention to Vertigo, but I kept zoning out. The movie kept turning into background noise. My mind was anywhere but with the movie. The awkward meeting with Jeremy Jenkins long forgotten.

I was so intrigued by Lauren Bacall’s identical twin. I wanted to have another brief encounter with her. 

Which was obviously crazy. I didn’t even know her. And she clearly didn’t recognize me at all. My urge to see her again was absolutely irrational. Irrational and silly.   
Was I really that far out? Was I really that desperate to quell the memories of this summer that I wanted to fixate my attention on a perfect stranger? 

I’m pretty sure the therapist warned you about acting irrationally, Celine. 

But I couldn’t help it. I kept seeing her smile at me. Kept hearing her wish me a good evening.


	3. Chapter Three

It turned out it was worth it. My mother was promoted. Hurrah.   
No more awkward dates for me. 

And an even busier schedule for my mother. 

I didn’t exactly mind that. I was used to taking care of myself. Could easily manage on my own. 

Pretty soon, I would be eighteen. I could manage things at home until then. and the failed date with Jeremy Jenkins had lead to something good. It had prompted me to apply for a job at the movies. And surprise, surprise, I had gotten it. I was now selling tickets, filling the popcorn machine and checking for forgotten people in the cinema. 

A job that gave a decent amount of money. And a nearly finished high school career. I was on to something good.

I would get my own place. A nice little apartment in Seattle. I could already see it before my eyes. With old furniture’s and black and white movie posters on the wall. A place where I could be myself. 

A place where I could watch old movies and blog about them uninterrupted. Recently, I had acquired quite a few followers on my blog. It turned out, old movies really “boomed” these days, and lately, there had been more and more people commenting on my movie reviews. Which was kinda nice, but also kinda sad because I was seventeen years old and should be out partying instead of blogging. 

I rolled my shoulders slightly as I posted my latest review. Tonight’s choice had been “Frenzy”. Another review had made it onto the big internet. Another review had gone viral.

Sometimes I wondered why I kept posting reviews. I doubted the faithful little flock of followers would notice if I neglected to post a new review, but I couldn’t seem to stop. It kept me busy during the night. It kept the nightmares at bay.

It didn’t exactly make me sleepy, but I had learned to live with that. The insomnia will fade, had the doctor said. 

Wonderful. When? I had answered. 

The doctor had no answer to that. 

And I was still waiting for a full night’s sleep. 

I always looked forward to the weekend. Not that I was doing anything in particular, but the weekends were always so blissfully quiet. I was often home alone in the weekend, and I had firmly said no to Hannah and Michelle’s suggestion about doing something.   
No, this weekend I was gonna sleep. That’s right. I was gonna shut my blinds, curl up under the covers and go to sleep. Maybe several hours if I were lucky. Because, I had no problem with falling asleep during the day. It was the nights that were fucked up.

My entire sleep schedule was fucked up. And so was I. 

That following Friday, I had a shift at the cinema. I was serving popcorns and checking people’s tickets when I was suddenly asked a question:   
“Do you know if this movie is any good?” 

I looked up with the popcorn shovel still hovering in midair. There was a boy standing in front of me. No, not a boy. A guy. And a rather fine exemplar too. Dirty blonde hair and hazel eyes. He looked nice. Open. He had a kind face.   
And he was still holding his ticket towards me. 

I glanced at it and immediately admired his taste in movies. 

“Yeah. It’s a really great movie,” I confirmed with a smile.

“Great,” he said and returned the smile. Cute smile too. 

“Do you want butter on your popcorn?” I offered.

He nodded, so I quickly fulfilled another of my work chores. Buttering the popcorns. 

“Enjoy the movie.” 

“Thanks…. Celine,” he grinned.

“Huh?” 

“Your name is written on your badge.” 

So it was. Silly me. 

I chuckled. “It’s been a long night already.” 

“Hope you’re right about the movie,” he said as he headed into the hall. 

“Let me know what you think of it afterwards?” I suggested. He seemed nice, and I was always up for a chat about movies. In fact, that was about the only thing that could keep me interested these days. 

“I’m ready to hold you personally responsible if I don’t like it,” he joked.

Cute and funny. I was getting more impressed by the minute. 

A pity we couldn’t talk longer. A small queue was forming behind him, and he was forced to continue into the movie theater itself. 

I quickly checked the rest of the visitor’s tickets whilst I repeated my mantra over and over again. Thank you, enjoy the movie, thank you, have a great night. 

Once the last person had gone into the theater, I waited until I could hear the commercials starting. Then I closed the door. 

Technically, I didn’t have to stay, but I often did anyway. To chat to Brynn, the girl who was taking the next shift. I wasn’t in a hurry to get home, and I was actually curious to see what the guy thought of the movie. 

 

Exactly two hours and three minutes later, people started coming out of the theater. Brynn stood ready by the door to receive empty popcorn boxes, and I hovered. Just in case the guy had remembered his promise. 

I was on the look out for him, but he still managed to “sneak up on me”. 

“You’re right. That was a great movie,” he said and flashed me a smile. 

“Happy I didn’t lead you astray. I really loved the ending.” 

“Me, too. I hadn’t seen that ending coming.”

“Yeah, I was surprised too.” 

“I’m Allen.” He said and outstretched his hand. 

“Celine. But you already know that.” I chuckled and shook his hand. 

“What do you do when you’re not giving people tips about movies?” 

“Well…” I considered it. The truth was that I actually did little else besides giving people tips about movies. “School and stuff,” I said halfheartedly. 

He chuckled again. “I meant in your free time.” 

“I watch movies,” I said honestly. ”When I’m not selling popcorns and movie tickets, I watch movies. All the time.”

“Cool,” he said. “What genre?” 

Now I was actually impressed. He appeared to be genuinely interested in it. 

“Mostly old movies. You know, black and white. But the atmosphere in Alfred Hitchcock’s movies are incredible, but I also really like older movies from the 1940’s. Everything just looked and sounded   
better. It’s a shame they don’t make movies like that anymore, and…” I paused. I was rambling. 

“Awesome,” Allen said. “If you ever need inspiration, you should start following this blog called “Sleepless in Seattle”, he or she really catches everything. I once spent an entire night scrolling through old reviews because I was so caught up in…” 

“That’s my blog!” I interrupted. 

“Seriously?” 

“Yes, yes, yes, I’ve had that blog since I was fifteen, but it’s not until recently I’ve started using it properly!” 

“No way! I love that blog.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah, I’ve been following it for ages. And the review of Frenzy you posted yesterday really hit the nail, I mean…” 

We chatted on. To be honest, I couldn’t remember the last time I had flapped my gums like that. We actually ended up chatting for so long, Brynn left, and I missed my bus. 

“Shit,” I cursed and glanced at my phone. “My bus left like five minutes ago.” 

“Oh, fuck, I’m sorry. I’ve kept you here.” 

“No, no, it’s fine, but I better… Before I miss the next bus.” 

“Yeah.” 

“But it was great chatting movies with you.” I smiled as I quickly shrugged my jacket on and headed towards the door. 

“Hey, do you wanna hang out sometimes?” 

I paused with my hand on the doorknob. “Yeah, sure.” I reached within my pockets and found a little card with both my number and email. “Just send me a message sometimes.” 

“Cool. I will.” 

“See ya.” 

With that I left the movie theater. Feeling quite uplifted as I walked down the darkened street. Allen seemed to be a nice guy, and maybe Hannah and Michelle were right. 

Maybe a bit of flirting with a nice guy was exactly what I needed. So far, we had plenty of things in common already. 

I was on to something good. 

It was raining quite a bit, and the old bus shelter wasn’t providing much of a shelter. I shivered slightly as I tried to find the driest spot in the old bus shelter. The roof wasn’t much of a roof. There were large holes in it. I was already drenched from my walk, and this was definitely not helping. The rain soaked my hair and made it hang flaccidly and water dripped down my nose. Not my most attractive of looks.

And I didn’t like the concept of this either. It was fairly late, and this was an abandoned bus shelter. Not exactly an ideal place to hang out for someone my age. 

I found my phone in my pocket, wiped the screen with my sleeve. There was still ten minutes until my bus arrived. Damnit. I was freezing my ass of in here. I should have brought gloves. Or a hat. Or a   
thicker jacket. Anything, really. 

I felt pretty miserable as I stood tucked away in the corner of the bus shelter, and my misery didn’t get any better when I heard footsteps approaching. This bus shelter was infamous. A couple of teen boys were constantly vandalizing it and bothering the people who was waiting for the bus. 

Let’s hope it’s someone harmless. Someone who’s not gonna bother me. 

The footsteps stopped in front of the bus shelter. And as far as I could hear, there was only one person there. 

But which person? Curiosity got the best of me and I poked my head out of the bus shelter. Just to make sure it wasn’t one of those bullies. I was definitely not in the mood for that. 

It wasn’t a bully. Or a teenage boy. It was neither a boy or a teenager. It was a woman. I couldn’t see her face because she was half-hidden under a big umbrella, but I was positive it was a woman. I breathed a sign of relief. I didn’t have to tell anyone to go to hell tonight. 

I was about to step back into the bus shelter, when the woman suddenly turned around halfway and said: “That bus shelter isn’t exactly providing much shelter, is it?”

Oh. I froze. I recognized that voice. That low, raspy voice. Greta. 

“No, it isn’t.” I answered. 

“There’s room for one more,” she said plainly and shook the umbrella once. 

Now there was an offer I couldn’t resist. I didn’t hesitate before I scurried out of the bus shelter and under the big umbrella. 

There was indeed plenty of room for both of us under it. Plenty of room. This must be the biggest umbrella in human history. 

I stole a glance at her. She was wearing this black, impractical coat with a massive fur collar. It would probably have looked ridiculous on anyone else. Her hair was perfectly styled again, and she was wearing one of those little hats I often saw in the movies I blogged about. 

“Thank you,” I said. It was nice of her to offer me room under the umbrella. 

“You’re welcome. It’s very cold tonight,” she commented. 

“It sure is.” 

It sure is? Wow, nice. That sounded dumb. I felt silly. As if I was trying to imitate her language. 

But she didn’t notice. She simply nodded once. 

We stood there in silence for a little while, and then Greta suddenly opened her mouth and asked: “Did I help you find something the other night?” 

“Uh... Yeah,” I said, a little surprised that she remembered that and not our encounter at the bar. “My key. I had dropped my key and you found it.”

“Oh, yes. It was in the cinema. I remember now.” 

“And saved my life,” I added, in an attempt to be funny. “I would pretty much have been screwed without that key.” 

“Well, I’m glad I could be of assistance then.” she said, sounding ever so serious. But I was sure I saw the faint hint of a smile. 

We stood in silence and waited. I felt so tempted to ask her if she really couldn’t remember me. If she really couldn’t remember how she had “rescued” me in that bar. How I had let her take a sip of my   
drink as a thank you. How she had kissed my cheek.

And why is that relevant? Why is that so important?

It isn’t. Of course, it isn’t. 

I fiddled with my hands. I wanted to say something to her. Just something. Anything. 

“Thanks again for giving me shelter.” 

Wow. Of all the things I could have said, I went with that. Nice one. 

But Greta just turned her head slightly and smiled. “You’re welcome.” 

Those ice blue eyes. Man, I was weak. Those were an unusual pair of eyes she had there. 

She was still looking at me. And for whatever reason, I found myself incapable of looking away. Her eyes were hypnotizing. Mesmerizing, I think Michelle had called something, and that was exactly what   
Greta’s eyes were. They were mesmerizing. Enchanting. 

And I had been staring at her for far too long. That was definitely rude. I averted my eyes and forced myself to look at the ground instead. 

But I had a distinct feeling that she was still watching me. 

Maybe it was a good thing that I didn’t get the chance to find out. The bus pulled up in front of us, and I pulled my hood up as Greta lightly shook the umbrella and then folded it together. 

After standing and waiting in the cold for so long, I was eager to get inside, and the second the door opened, I more or less jumped into the bus. 

“Argh! Shit!” I cursed. I had been too eager. The floor in the bus was slippery, and I would probably had fallen face first if it hadn’t been for Greta. 

She swiftly grabbed my upper arm and guided me back on my feet. 

“Be careful,” she said quietly. 

“I- thank you.” Was I blushing? Yes, most likely. And I felt like an absolute idiot for doing so. 

“Are you going far?” Greta asked, a bit of nowhere as she let go of my arm. 

“Three stops.” 

“Then I would find an empty seat if I were you. The floor is slippery.” 

I nodded worthlessly and followed her “order”. I did indeed find an empty seat. I was half-hoping that Greta would sit down next to me, but she didn’t. Apparently, she preferred to stand. 

I found myself watching her again. I couldn’t help it. But this time, she didn’t return my gaze, and at the next stop, she got off the bus without sparing me a second glance. 

I watched as she disappeared under the umbrella again.


	4. Chapter Four

The following morning, I was pleasantly surprised to receive a call from Allen. I had half expected him to “accidentally” lose the card I’d given him, but he didn’t. Instead he called me. And the conversation flowed between us. We talked for almost an hour, and I happily agreed to meet up for coffee the following day. After school, of course. My mother always made a big deal out of school, and I had been falling a little behind.

So, the following day I headed out to my local coffee pusher. Better known as Starbucks. 

Allen was already there. And he was smiling. He looked exactly as cute as I remembered. His hazel eyes were sparkling, and his blonde hair had been tousled very professionally with some sort of wax. He had made an effort. I was impressed. 

“Hey.” He said and smiled. Very nice smile, too. I noted. 

“Hey.” I returned his smile. 

We headed inside, and once again, the conversation flowed as we ordered coffee. One double espresso for me, and one cappuccino for him. 

We chatted briskly about movies, about school. Unfortunately, he didn’t go at my high school, but another one nearby. 

He really was very nice, and every time he smiled, my stomach flipped. And his passion for old movies were rare. 

Had I seriously gotten this lucky? A cute, smart and funny guy with a fondness for old movies liked me. ME. Walking zombie, self-proclaimed train wreck, me. 

I knew right away that I really liked him. And my feelings were seemingly returned. 

Which was great and all, but it also made me nervous. 

There had been a few guys in my life before the accident, but afterwards I had completely turned my back on all that while I tried to get my life back on track. 

But now that my life was halfway back on track, I felt strangely nervous. Maybe it was some sort of weird “side effect”. Maybe Hannah and Michelle were right. I did need to go out more. I couldn’t just hide at home with my blog and movies. That wasn’t a life. 

“You wanna go for a walk?” Allen suggested once the coffee cups had been emptied. 

“That sounds great,” I smiled. 

We ended up walking around aimlessly, through the nearby park and then back on to the street. Both of us chatted away. It was a nice day with sunshine. 

I felt good. 

And I continued to feel good. Allen and I immediately clicked. Hit it off, as they say. Our Starbucks date quickly turned regular meetings. Which then quickly turned into handholding and kisses. It didn’t take more than three weeks before we were in contact all the time. Through Snapchat, through Messenger. 

I felt as if I had hit some sort of jackpot. A genuine good guy who liked me as much as I liked him. A sweet and compassionate guy who was excellent at making me laugh. 

I had to withstand a fair amount of teasing from Hannah and Michelle, who lovingly accused me of “turning into a fucking Disney princess who suddenly believed in true love and shit.” A comment I laughed loudly about. 

My newfound “whirlwind romance” with Allen hadn’t exactly turned me into a “fucking Disney princess”, but it had definitely added some color to my otherwise grey life. 

Suddenly, I had a boyfriend. A sweet, kind, loving boyfriend who never failed to make me smile. 

Suddenly, we were jokingly making plans for the future. It turned out both of us wanted to go to New York. Allen wanted to be a lawyer and I was ambitious enough to have movie dreams. Not as a star, god no. I wanted to be a movie instructor. Or maybe a writer. I wanted to be the someone behind the camera who instructed as the magic happened. I wanted to be the writer of incredible stories. Those had been my “dream careers” since I was nine. And my mother had always laughed at me, brushed it aside and told me it was nonsense. Of course, I wasn’t gonna be a movie instructor or a writer. I was gonna be a doctor. Like her. A prestigious job that payed good money. A job that could make her say: “my daughter is following in my footsteps”, whilst she looked ridiculously proud. 

There would be none of that. And I realized that my reluctance to follow in her footsteps, would most likely lead to the ultimate break between us, but I managed to push it out of my mind. I was gonna keep my mouth entirely shut about my plans for the future. I wouldn’t tell her until I was far away in New York. That way I would be able to control her rage. By hanging up on her. 

As opposed to my mother, Allen fully supported my plans. We had- quite unexpectedly- run into my mother one day when we hung out at my house. She had come home early for some reason, and I had been forced to introduce to each other. 

And… Surprise, surprise! She actually liked Allen. A lot. She almost drooled when he told her that he wanted to be a lawyer. 

Afterwards, once Allen had left, my mother had congratulated me. Which could have been sweet, except she did it in a way that let me know that Allen was far too good for me. 

She wasn’t entirely wrong about that. But still, jeez, thanks mom.

 

So yeah, Allen and I quickly grew close. He was everything I was looking for in a guy. And his house quickly became one of my favorite places to hang out. 

It didn’t take us long to become what Michelle called “half serious”. As January, February, March slipped by, we went out regularly, for burgers or coffee. Sometimes we watched a movie, and sometimes we ended up on his couch, doing nothing but kissing each other. 

I finally felt as if things were starting to look up. Everything had been bleak after the accident, but now, with Allen in my life, I was beginning to look at the bright side of life. As cliché as it sounded. 

But things were good. Very good. 

“I need a break,” I declared, half laughing and slightly breathless. 

“Right. Of course,” Allen said and pushed himself up and away from me. He looked just as breathless as I felt, and I chuckled a little. 

We had ended up in his room again. On his old, green couch. I’m not sure why we never did this sort of thing in his bed. Maybe it felt like breaking some sort of unspoken rule. A rule about not getting   
carried away. 

I sat up and pushed my golden hair away from my face. 

Allen laughed. 

“What?” I challenged.

“Your hair is all messed up,” he teased and tugged a little at it. 

“Your fault,” I said. 

He flashed me a grin. 

My phone beeped insistently. It was the fifth time within two minutes. I had neglected to pick up on it until now. I had been far too busy. 

But now I grabbed the phone and checked the message. I groaned quietly. 

“What is it?” Allen asked, and his hand landed on my upper back. 

“My mom,” I said and grimaced. “She wants me to come home.”

“Tell her you’re busy?” Allen suggested.

I laughed bitterly. “Can’t. Sorry. She’s been texting me five times already. She’ll probably go ballistic if I don’t come home.” 

“Okay.” Allen rose from the couch and pulled me up with him. 

I giggled as I stumbled slightly and landed in his arms. 

“Will I see you tomorrow?” he asked as his long arms wrapped around my waist. 

“Sure.” Tomorrow was Friday. It would give us plenty of time to hang out and… Do stuff. My eyes wandered to his bed again. During the past few weeks, I had given sex some thought. I considered myself   
to be a very responsible teenager. And Allen was the sweetest guy in the whole world. A very good combination. 

“See you tomorrow.” I leaned in and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

“Yeah.” 

He didn’t release me right away, thought. Instead we procrastinated and kissed until my phone beeped again. 

 

The moment I finally stepped inside my house, mom was waiting for me at the foot of the stars. 

“At last!” she complained before I got the chance to open my mouth. “It would be nice if you could stick to our schedule for once!” 

“Schedule?” I echoed and tugged my beanie of. “What are you talking about?” 

“You need to start packing,” she continued and gestured towards my suitcase.

“Packing?” I repeated and started to feel rather dumb. “Uhh… For what, exactly?” 

“The conference, Celine,” mother said and clicked her tongue. 

Shit. I had completely forgotten that. For weeks, she had been going on about that fucking conference she was going to this weekend. That fucking conference she was dragging me along to. 

And I really didn’t want to go. 

“Can’t I stay at home?” I tried. 

“No. You can’t.” 

“I can stay over at Hannah or Michelle’s. Or they can come here,” I suggested. 

“Celine.” She said and used that particular tone she often did when things weren’t up for debate. “We’re not discussing this. You’ve known about this conference for three weeks.” 

“But I have plans with Allen!” I complained. 

“Please,” she said sweetly and patted my cheek. “This is very important to me. I want you to be there.” 

“Why?” I asked. “You’re gonna be busy with your hotshot friends anyway!” 

Her mouth twisted slightly at that, but her voice was still sweet when she continued: “The conference only lasts three days. After that, you and I can go out and do something nice.” 

“Come on mom. We both know that’s not gonna happen.” 

“It’s on The Fairmont Olympic.” She said and completely ignored me. “It’s a luxury hotel. Anybody else would be delighted.” 

“I’m not anybody.”

“Start packing.” 

She left me with no choice. I had nothing to say in the matter. I sighed as I dragged my suitcase upstairs. Sometimes I wondered how we could be mother and daughter. How I could be physically related to   
Maura Welles, hot shot doctor. How could I be the product of her? 

When I was younger, I thought I was adopted. Possibly because she never mentioned my father. It was not until I was fifteen I found out the truth. My mom had made a blunder. Impossible, right? After a night out drinking, she had gone home with some random guy. 

I was an accident. The product of a hookup. The only mistake my mother had ever made. And I was the result. 

Sometimes I wondered whether she regretted having me. If I was a bother. An obstacle when it came to her glittering career. 

I had ever asked her. I didn’t want to know the answer. 

I grimaced as I opened my suitcase and started hauling things out of the closet. I really didn’t want to do this. Spending a weekend alone in some huge hotel while mom was off charming everybody was not the way I had intended to spend my weekend. 

But again, I had no choice. I never had when mom decided on something. Nobody argues with Maura Welles. Least of all her daughter.

My phone beeped, and I abandoned the packing task momentarily to see what it was. It turned out to be a silly picture from Allen. Both of us were heavy coffee drinkers, and he found it necessary to send   
me a Snapchat every time he found a new brand in a store. 

Shit. Allen. I had agreed to hang out with him tomorrow, but obviously I couldn’t do that. Thanks to mother.

I quickly texted him, telling him about the change of plans. 

It didn’t take him long to answer. He expressed his disappointment but understood that I had to accompany my mother to the conference. 

I chuckled dryly. He understood more than me. Because I didn’t have a clue why my mother found it necessary to drag me along. 

Could she actually be a little bit worried about me? Just a little bit? Maybe. Possible. I hoped so. I had only seen her worried once. When I was at the hospital after the accident. 

My phone beeped again. This time it was Michelle. She was having a party this Saturday, and she insisted that I came.

I had to decline again. And this time I didn’t feel quite as sorry about it. Parties weren’t my thing. I wasn’t good in crowds. 

I continued to pack some of my clothes and I had just folded another pair of jeans and stuffed them into the suitcase when mom barged in. unannounced and without knocking. 

“Is that what you’re bringing, sweetie?” she asked in that hideously overbearing way I hated. 

“Yeah,” I said a bit challenging. 

“Hmm.” She pursed her lips and disappeared out of the door. 

Huh. She didn’t put up a fight for once. Lucky me. I stuffed a few extra beanies into the suitcase and was about to slam it shut when she came into my room once more with something in a plastic bag. 

“I want you to bring this,” she said and unzipped the white plastic bag, revealing a dusty pink dress. 

“Why would I want to bring that?” I asked and wrinkled my nose at the dress. It was definitely not something I would wear. 

“There’s gonna be a dinner on the second day of the conference,” she said absentmindedly as she held up the dress in front of me. “Yes, this is perfect.” 

“Isn’t the dinner just for members of the…” 

“My colleagues want to meet you,” she cut me off. “And I want you to make a good impression on them. It’s no harm they remember your face. I know several of them have connections to the very best   
colleges and universities.” 

I don’t want to be a damn doctor. The words burned on my tongue. But I couldn’t get them out. 

“Bring this,” she said, my level of uncomfortableness going completely over her head. She pursed her lips again and she looked at the clothes in my suitcase. With two fingers she lifted my favorite shirt-   
a blue-ish flannel with large buttons. 

“Are you sure you’ll need this, sweetie?” 

"Yes, absolutely.” I said plainly. 

She scowled slightly. “Be sensible, honey. You won’t need this at a luxury hotel. The other guests will think you’re a wild thing from the street.” 

She smiled sickly and sweetly as she folded the shirt and put it back into my clothes. Then she left my room. Probably to pack her own clothes. 

As soon as the door had closed behind her, I fished the shirt out of the closet and stuffed it back into my suitcase. That was one way to rebel against her. 

But I couldn’t do anything to get rid of the pink horror. With a sigh and an eyeroll I folded it and stuffed it into the suitcase. If it gets crinkled…. Then I don’t care. 

I slammed the suitcase and flopped back onto my bed. This felt like a bucket of ice cold water straight to the face after the nice afternoon I had spent with Allen. 

I really didn’t feel like spending my weekend at some hotel. Luxury or not. I had made plans. And I wanted to hang out with Allen. I lifted my head slightly to look out of the window. It was slightly creaked open. Maybe I should just say “fuck it” and escape out of the window. 

It wasn’t the first time I had considered to run away, and something told me it wouldn’t be the last time either. But I had never quite had the guts to actually do it. Mainly because I had nowhere to run off too. 

I thought of Allen. Maybe I could sleep on his couch. Just for a few days. Just until my mom realized what she was about to lose. 

Or maybe I could sleep in his bed instead. My stomach curled pleasantly at the thought. Allen. My Allen. He was so….

“Celine!” 

I was violently pulled out of my day dream about Allen. My mom’s voice could cut through steel. Sometimes I wondered if she spoke to her patients like that. 

“Celine!” 

“What?” I yelled back. 

“Could you kindly come down here?” she barked up the stairs. “We need to discuss what kind of shoes you’ll bring.” 

I rolled my eyes. Seriously? We needed to discuss what kind of shoes I’ll bring? Other people talked about it. But not Maura Welles. She discussed. And then she forced her opinion through no matter what I thought of it. 

“Celine!” 

“Alright, alright! I’m coming!” I shouted back. 

“Don’t yell at me, Celine!” 

Oh, I would never dream of it, I thought bitterly to myself as I reluctantly pushed myself up from the bed and dragged my unwilling body downstairs where my mom was waiting. All of my shoes were lined up and she was already pointing and “suggesting” which pair I should bring. And which ones I shouldn’t bring. She seemed to focus on that mostly. There was no way I could bring my converse shoes. Or   
my sneakers. No, no, I would have to bring my black, lace up boots. And the only pair of high heels I owned. 

I didn’t protest. The battle was already lost. I just wanted to get this over with, so I could return to my room and Facetime Allen and Michelle and Hannah. 

“Celine? Sweetie, are you even paying attention to what I’m saying?” mom asked and raised an eyebrow. 

“Of course,” I lied. “The high heels are fine.” 

She smiled. And so did I. It was so much easier to just go along with it.

Finally, she allowed me to return to my room, and I immediately flopped back on the bed again. Within seconds I found my phone and facetimed Allen. His cute face appeared on the screen and I held back a groan. Why the hell did I have to spend my weekend at some hotel instead of hanging out with him?


	5. Chapter Five

There was no way around it. The following day, I found myself being stuffed into mother’s ridiculously big BMW. We were going to The Fairmont Olympia. No discussion. No arguments. That was just how things were. Nothing to do about it. 

She was driving too fast. But telling her was useless. And she wasn’t paying attention anyway. Her earbuds didn’t leave her ears as we ventured out on the short drive. She was hectically speaking to one of the nurses. Apparently, the poor woman had made some sort of minor mistake with a patient’s file. 

I zoned out as I placed my own earbuds in my ears and turned the volume up on Samantha de Siena’s "You Laugh At the Moon". 

The sound drowned mother’s voice slightly, and I was grateful for that. Maybe it was a good thing that she was gonna be with her hotshot friends this weekend. The less I saw of her, the happier I was. We weren’t compatible. And I preferred to be on my own. She literally sucked the joy out of anything. 

I had decided to try and make the most out of this weekend getaway. I had actually googled the hotel last night, and it wasn’t a half bad place. There was a pool and a bar. If anything, I could get drunk.   
Maybe drinking my way through this weekend was the answer to everything. 

“Well, perhaps if you were a bit more careful with such delicate information! That is what you get paid for, is it not?” 

I turned the volume up slightly and cringed. That poor woman. I really wouldn’t want to work for my mother. 

Unfortunately, no music was loud enough to completely drown the sound of my mother’s icy voice. That could literally cut through steel, and I doubted the poor woman in the other end of the phone was worthy of such an earful. 

But that was so typical for my mother. She always blew things out of proportions. Even minor mistakes. Everything needed to be scrutinized again and again. She was a perfectionist, and the very worst kind of them.

I found an aggressive rock song and switched the volume up. 

Yesterday I might have been slightly biased and unwilling. I was still slightly unwilling, but now, as I stood in front of the hotel, I couldn’t help but gape just a little. No doubt this was a luxurious hotel.   
And probably expensive too. 

My mother was smiling rather triumphantly at the look on my face. “I knew you would love it.” 

“It’s a nice place,” I said and shrugged. 

“Let’s go inside,” she more or less ordered, and I jogged slightly to keep up with her quick pace as I dragged my battered suitcase after me.

The hotel lobby was definitely not bad either. High to the ceiling and mahogany furniture’s. The whole place just oozed of luxury and money. 

“Doctor Welles!” 

I groaned quietly and rolled my eyes. We had barely made it inside before one of mom’s colleagues found her. 

“Arnold,” she said silkily, and I saw her middle aged college give her two, dry kisses on the cheek. 

“I’m so glad you found time to attend this conference,” he said, and I wanted to cringe again. He was humbled to have her here. 

“But of course,” she assured with that drawl I hated. “I don’t believe you’ve met my daughter? Arnold, this is Celine.” 

To my horror, he turned his attention to me, took my hand and placed a dry kiss upon it. “Miss Welles,” he gushed. “How nice to meet you. Your mother has told me so many fine things about you.” 

I almost snorted at that. What things? What “fine things” could my mother possibly have told this man? All she did was complaining over me. 

Either Arnold was lying to me or making a rather horrible attempt at ass kissing. For whatever reason. 

“Celine is a bright girl,” mother said and wrapped an arm around me, squeezing my shoulder. 

“Well, how can she be anything else with a mother like you?” Arnold laughed. 

My mother laughed too. And the sound ringed falseness. 

“Perhaps we’ll have the joy of welcoming young Miss Welles at the hospital in a few years?” Arnold asked smoothly. 

“Oh, absolutely,” my mother cooed. “Celine has high ambitions.” 

“And of course, she’ll succeed,” Arnold said and flashed me something that was supposed to be a reassuring smile. 

I returned the smile. Poor guy. He was really trying to suck up to my mother. I almost felt tempted to inform him that I was already well known on the hospital. As a patient. Thanks to the car accident almost seven months months ago, I knew room 24 as well as my own pocket. 

My mother seemed to be perfectly contended with chatting with Arnold, so I decided to check myself into the room. I trotted over to the desk where the blonde receptionist flashed me a beaming smile. 

“Doctor and Miss Welles?” she said before I got the chance to open my mouth. 

“Yeah,” I said and went along with it. I didn’t know how she knew, and I didn’t really care either. 

“One moment, Miss Welles.” 

So, I waited and wiggled one hand underneath my beanie and scratched my head. I chewed at my bottom lip as I anxiously looked around in the lobby. I was definitely not dressed for this. Everybody looked so fucking posh. 

After a moment, the blonde receptionist returned with a room key and a stack of papers. 

“14th floor, room 247, Miss Welles. All information regarding the television and spa bath are in this,” she motioned towards the stack of papers. 

I raised an eyebrow. Spa bath? Did we even need that? 

“And do please help yourself to the minibar. It has already been paid for,” she flashed her white teeth in another smile. “And please don’t hesitate to send for us if you need anything.” 

“Okay,” I said lamely. Jeez, all I wanted was to be checked in. No need to give me the full, royal treatment. 

I weighed the key in my hand and looked over my shoulder. My mother was still busy charming Arnold and spreading Maura Welles energy all over the place. 

I let her stand there. I took a firmer hold of my suitcase and declined the receptionist offer about finding a hotel cleric that could help me with the suitcase. I could easily handle that on my own. It wasn’t that heavy. 

I wheeled the suitcase into the elevator and pressed a few buttons. The elevator door closed with a slurp sound. 

I waited patiently as the elevator brought me up and up and up. My room was at the very top. Right under the roof, basically. I had no clue which floor my mother was staying on. Nor her room number. 

Oh, well. I will probably find out.

If she ever actually checked in, that was. 

The elevator stopped, and the door opened again. I more or less stumbled out in the quiet hallway and cursed. That damn suitcase had landed directly on my foot. Damnit. I should have taken the receptionist offer about finding a hotel cleric. 

Room 247, room 247, I wandered down the hallway in the search for the correct number, and I found it at the very bottom of the hallway. There it was. Room 247. I swiftly put the key in the lock and opened the door. 

I gaped again when I stepped inside. Damn. This was no ordinary room. This was a suite. My mother had booked me a fucking suite. Maybe I was being ungrateful, but this was definitely over the top. I would have been just as happy with something smaller. 

Extravagant wasn’t the word for this room. Four poster bed, an enormous flat screen television. Minibar. Lounge chairs. Enormous, plushy red velvet couch. A chandelier dangling from the ceiling. 

A quick peek into the bathroom told me that the exterior in there was just as extravagant. 

I sighed heavily as I dumped the suitcase and then myself on the bed. What the hell was I doing here? I had only been to a couple of conferences with my mom on hotels like these, but I always felt   
awkward and out of place. Like I didn’t belong. 

And I definitely didn’t belong here. In my ripped jeans and tanktop and beanie I looked odd amongst the heavy, mahogany furniture’s. 

I ripped the beanie off my head and ran a hand through my wild blonde curls. I needed to brush my hair. It was going frizzy. 

But sadly, I also needed to unpack. So, I pushed myself up from the bed and opened my suitcase. 

I really brought all the wrong things, I realized as I stuffed two other pairs of ripped jeans into the closet. That was my wardrobe. Jeans and a tanktop. But this place didn’t exactly encourage that sort of clothing. No, this was very much a place for pantsuits and pencil skirts. 

I definitely didn’t belong here. 

I had just stuffed the last piece of clothing away- the dusty pink dress- when there was a demanding knock on my door. 

I smothered a dry chuckle and composed myself as I crossed the room to open the door. This was one of the benefits. My mother couldn’t just force her way into my room unannounced. 

“Oh. You found the room. Good.” Mother said as she marched into the room. “Hmm. This is certainly smaller than I had expected. Maybe we should find you a better room.” 

“The room is fine,” I quickly assured. “It’s perfect.” 

“I’m afraid you’re easily impressed, my dear,” she drawled and patted my cheek lightly. 

“Right. Whatever.”

“Don’t use that tone with me, Celine.” She admonished. “This is supposed to be a nice weekend.” 

I flashed her a false smile. Right. A nice weekend. That was her mantra. Smile and pretend, just smile and pretend. 

“I’m gonna have dinner with Arnold and his wife tonight,” my mother announced. 

“Okay.” 

“Why don’t you explore the hotel tonight?” she suggested. “I’m sure you don’t want to go to the dinner…” 

“No, probably not.” 

“You can order room service. But take it easy on the dessert. I would like you to fit into your new dress.” 

And that was it. With a laughter and another pat to my cheek she disappeared out of my room. 

So much for a family weekend together. I was disappointed, but sadly it wasn’t a surprising development. I was used to this. There was always something more important she just needed to do. 

But room service wasn’t half bad. Maybe I would even order some ice cream. Just to spite my mother and her ridiculous demands. 

Or maybe this place had burgers. Burgers would be good, too. 

 

So, three hours later I was “exploring” the hotel. I went to every single floor, checked out the lobby. “Snooped around” in The Terrace Lounge where people could come in and enjoy a drink or read the paper. But I felt awfully “seventeen” when I sat foot in there. The guests in there were twice my age, and I was convinced all of them shot me funny looks, indicating that I had no business there. 

After a while, I took the elevator to the enormous hotel pool. Considering the meal I just had (smoky barbecue chicken wings with ranch dipping) a bit of exercise wouldn’t be so bad. 

I was surprised to find the swimming pool completely empty. I was literally the only person down here. 

“Where is everybody?” I mumbled to myself as I looked around. Nobody around. Oh well. All the more for me then. 

I took advantage of the privacy and changed into a bathing suit. Then I dived right into the water. The splash echoed in the silent room. It was actually slightly creepy that there was no one around. But then again, I couldn’t imagine any of the guests using the swimming pool. Every guest I had seen on my little route had looked far too business like for something as silly as swimming. 

The hotel was crawling with suits and pencil skirts. People were probably here to attend the conference and nothing more. 

And I was probably the only one under thirty. 

I dived underwater and swam towards the bottom. If only Michelle or Hannah could have been here. We could have had so much fun together. 

Or Allen. I grazed the bottom of the swimming pool with my fingertips. If only he had been here. Him and me. Alone for the weekend on a luxury hotel. 

I was beginning to feel just a bit lonely as I resurfaced and took a deep breath. I kept envisioning me and Allen laughing and running around on the hotel, stumbling into the elevator as if we were in the middle of a scene from Titanic. 

I felt both happy and sad as I thought of my boyfriend. God, I wish he was here.

Maybe I should head back to the hotel room and call him. I could do that. I could order a bag of chips and a cola and Facetime Allen. Didn’t that sound like the perfect night? 

It did. And that was exactly what I wanted to do right now. I would take a few more rounds in the swimming pool and then return to my room. Mother would probably be gone for most of the night anyway. 

Clack, clack, clack. 

I stopped abruptly mid swim stroke. What was that? 

“Hello?” I tried. 

The silence almost shouted back at me. 

Hmm. So, I was hearing things. Interesting. 

Clack, clack, clack. 

Or maybe not. “Hello?” I said again. “Is someone down here?” 

More silence coming my way. 

I strained my ears to the utmost and tried to listen, but there was nothing. Just the sound of the water in the swimming pool. 

Strange. Thanks to my mother’s favorite choice of footwear, I knew precisely what that sound had been. High heels on a hard floor. And I was positive the sound came from this room. The swimming pool   
area. 

But nobody was here. 

Maybe the place is haunted. I giggled softly at that. Young woman dies mysteriously in hotel swimming pool. The Fairmont Olympia, five star luxury hotel haunted by vicious poltergeist. There should   
definitely be a movie about that. 

Maybe that should be my big debut as a movie instructor. This place was certainly appropriate if you wanted to shoot a movie. 

After a few more breaststrokes I got out of the pool, wrapped a fluffy white towel around my body and headed back for the area with the showers. I couldn’t very well come back smelling of chlorine.

The rest of the night was pretty nice. I ordered snacks and cola and Facetimed both Hannah and Michelle. And then Allen. I showed him the room, and I could tell that he was impressed. 

“It’s alright,” I shrugged and sent my blonde braid tumbling down my back. “But I wish you were here.” 

“You and I will head to The Plaza someday,” he said goofily. 

I giggled. That was one of the many reasons I liked him so much. He was so goofy. He never failed to make me laugh. I watched as he scratched his chin. His dirty blonde hair fell in front of his eyes and   
he had to brush it away. He was just so attractive when he did that. And those hazel eyes. I had never seen kinder eyes. 

“What?” he asked self-consciously. “Do I have a zit on my face or something?” 

“No, you idiot!” I laughed. “I just like… Looking at you.” 

He chuckled. “I like looking at you too, Celine Welles.” 

“You better.” 

We both laughed at that, and then he asked more questions about the hotel. I willingly described the swimming pool to him. The lobby. The bar. The other guests. All the suits and pencil skirts. 

“Seriously, there’s only career people here,” I complained. “And all of them look like my mother.” 

“Even the guys?” 

“Especially the guys.” 

We both laughed at that, and when we ended the call an hour and a half later, I felt quite uplifted. 

It was almost as if Allen had been right here with me. 

I crunched through the rest of my chips and dragged my laptop into the enormous bed with me. One or two episodes of Game of Thrones before bedtime seemed like the perfect way to end the night. 

I couldn’t concentrate on Ned Stark’s execution, though. The Snapchat’s kept coming in. Michelle found that it was her humble duty to inform me that I was missing an “awesome party” at Taylor’s house. And judging by the incoming Snapchats, it was a very good party. People seemed pretty drunk, and- was that whipped cream smeared on the mirror behind Michelle? Wow. That is some party. 

I ordered her to have a good time, drink something for me and flirt with someone who didn’t deserve it. 

Not that I had to. Order her, I mean. Michelle flirted with everything that had a pulse. 

My prediction was right. I saw absolutely nothing of my mother that night. Either she was having a really good time, or she had returned to her room without informing me.

Not that I cared. I was doing just fine, in this enormous bed I had all to myself. It was so roomy. I was pretty sure three people could easily fit into this bed. 

The room was nice and cold. Not too cold, but not too warm either. The temperature in here was just right. I could see Seattle’s skyline outside, and I could hear the faint sound of the hotel guest’s   
downstairs. But there was silence on my floor. Maybe I was the only one living on this particular floor. 

I sniggered. All alone on the 14th floor. Someone ought to make a movie about that, too. The title was certainly promising enough. 

I stretched my too long limbs. The pillow was so soft. The duvet seemed so light and floaty as it covered me. I was just about to nod off when I heard something. A soft “good evening, ma’am,” from one   
of the staff members, a quiet response, and then even softer footsteps. 

Oh. I raised on my elbows. So, I wasn’t the only one living on this floor after all. I outstretched a hand and fumbled to find my phone. After a few seconds of scrabbling around in the dark I found what I was looking for and cringed. The light on the screen was too damn bright. Definitely too late for this hour. It was almost three in the morning. 

Now I felt a bit curious. Three in the morning. That was late. Who was this late night guest? 

I climbed out of bed and stumbled over to the door. I wanted to know who had disturbed my sleep by coming back to their room this late. 

Not very gracefully, I opened the door and peeked outside to see who the mysterious guest was. 

The mystery was quickly uncovered. There was the late night guest, standing opposite me and in the process of unlocking the door to her room. Her black coat with the fur collar was unbuttoned and I   
could see the tight, burgundy dress she was wearing underneath. Once again, her chestnut hair was styled in perfect curls that almost brushed the top of her shoulders. 

Greta. 

What is she doing here? I wondered. Is she attending the conference? Could be. She did give that “successful woman”-vibe, so it wasn’t impossible that she was another doctor attending the conference. 

Either way, she seemed to pop up everywhere. Even though it was a good three weeks since my last encounter with her, I could still remember the way she had grabbed my arm when I stumbled in the bus. 

You’re staring. Shit. I was. I was totally gawking at her as she fumbled with the key and tried to unlock the door. 

Well, at least she hasn’t seen- wait, never mind. Greta suddenly turned around, and I was momentarily enticed by the way her soft curls bounced at the movement. She looked at me with those eyes. Those mysterious, ice blue eyes I couldn’t figure out. And then… She smiled. And not just in a “nice to meet you, why the hell are you staring at me”-way, but in a familiar way. 

Greta recognized me, there was no doubt of it. And she kept smiling as she walked backwards into her room and locked the door.


	6. Chapter Six

I saw mother for about ten seconds that following morning. She knocked harshly on my door at 7:15, paying little attention to the fact that I was still sleeping. 

I tumbled out of bed and unlocked the door for her and she strode into my room, radiating power and confidence. 

“Are you not up yet?” she asked as she checked her perfect, pageboy haircut in my mirror. “Really, dear. You shouldn’t be laying around all morning. It’s not healthy.” 

“Does it matter?” I shot back. It’s not like we’re doing anything together anyway. 

She scowled and folded her arms across her chest. “Breakfast is only until nine. And you do want to have time to get presentable, don’t you?” 

I gritted my teeth. The way she said it. She made it sound like it would take me hours to look good. “Yes, mother.” I said overbearingly and sardonically. 

My sarcasm went completely over her head, and she smiled. “Good. I will be having breakfast with doctor Thompson, and afterwards the conference will be starting.” 

“Fine.” I said and shrugged. A new day alone on the huge hotel. I was beginning to feel like some Alice in Wonderland. 

“Make yourself presentable,” she said as she strode out of my room. 

“Jawohl,” I muttered. What did she even come in here for? To check how she looked in a different mirror? 

I snorted. If only she knew how she looked in my mirror. 

I decided not to go back to bed. Why should I? I was up anyway, and I didn’t want to miss breakfast. 

So, I made myself “presentable”. In a pair of ripped jeans and a tanktop. I chuckled dryly as I pulled my blonde hair back in a ponytail. There were many ways to rebel. 

Then I headed out to the elevator. The hallway looked quite deserted and I tapped my foot up and down as I waited for the elevator. 

With a soft whirring sound, the elevator arrived. I was pleased to see that it was empty. There’s nothing worse than a crowded elevator. 

I had just stepped inside and was still trying to work out which button would take me downstairs to the breakfast room when I heard a door open. 

I turned around slightly to see who it was. And again, I felt myself getting pleasantly surprised for some inexplicable reason. 

It was Greta who had stepped out of her room. She was heading towards the elevator and I immediately wedged my hands in between the doors to prevent them from closing before she could step in. 

And my hard work paid off. She stepped into the elevator and flashed me a little smile. “Thank you for holding the door.” she said with that low, raspy voice. 

“No problem.” 

I didn’t know what else to say to this insanely sophisticated woman. And I certainly had no excuse for stealing glances at her like I did now. 

Today she was wearing a black pencil skirt and a crisp, white blouse tugged into the waistband of her skirt, golden earrings and a golden chain around her neck. Her hair was as perfect as it had been the other times I had seen her. Her lips and nails were both painted red, and those ice blue eyes of hers were framed by her thick, dark lashes, and once again I was jealous of her ability to make a perfect cat eye.   
And to fulfill this image of perfection, she was wearing this little hat on top of her perfect styled hair. I think it was what you called a pillbox hat. Awfully popular in those old movies I loved watching. 

I almost felt tempted to groan. Why the hell does she always look so perfect? I probably looked like shit next to her. She’s definitely attending the conference. 

“Third button.” 

“I-What?” I said and immediately cursed myself. It’s called “pardon”, not “what”.

“I’m guessing you’re on your way to get breakfast?” 

“I- yeah. I am,” I confirmed lamely. 

“Third button.” She repeated. 

“Thanks.” 

I pushed the third button. The elevator door closed with a slurp, and I felt how my navel was pulled downwards with the elevator’s movement. 

Greta didn’t say anything. She just calmly leaned back against the wall. 

I found myself wishing that she would look at me. Just once. I just wanted to see those eyes of hers one more time. Make sure they really were so ice blue as they had been on our other encounters. 

And why the fuck is that important? What does the color of her eyes matter to you? 

I thought of Allen and his hazel eyes. The way they narrowed when he was concentrating. His kind eyes and the way they sparkled when he looked at me. 

Bling. The elevator stopped on the third floor. The doors opened, but nobody stepped inside. Maybe someone had changed their mind or found a faster elevator. 

Slurp. The doors closed again and once again my navel was pulled downwards. 

“Celine.” 

“What?” “Pardon.” I whipped my head around to look at Greta. She had spoken so softly I almost didn’t hear her. 

“You’re Celine, aren’t you?” she asked calmly. 

“I am,” I confirmed. 

“I thought so.” Greta said. “We met on the bus, didn’t we?” 

“We did.” 

She nodded. 

“But we actually met at the cinema too,” I said. “You helped me find my key.” 

“Oh, yes. I remember.” She nodded. 

What about the bar? Do you remember saving me from an asshat of a guy? Do you remember the roasting you gave him? Do you remember the kiss you planted on my cheek? Maybe she didn’t. Not everyone remembered what they did a month ago. 

The elevator door opened again, this time on the right floor. And eager as I was to get out of this small, confined space and the awkward tension, I leapt towards the exit. 

So did she. Both of us were trying to get out of the elevator first, and I flushed. She was standing so close to me. I could smell her perfume. Pineapple and some sort of other exotic fruit I couldn’t name right now. 

“After you,” she said silkily and took a step backwards, allowing me to step out of the elevator. 

“T-Thanks,” I squeaked as I more or less fleeted the scene. God, what the hell was it about this woman that turned me into a fidgeting idiot? Because this wasn’t normal for me. I actually had inherited a   
bit of Maura Welles’ confidence. So, why the hell was I so put off by this woman? She wasn’t scary like my mother was. She was definitely intimidating, yes, but she wasn’t scary. 

No, she was… She was… 

“Oh, never mind,” I grumbled to myself. I could hear the murmurs from the other guests, and I could smell the freshly made coffee and the crispy bacon. Breakfast was definitely far more important than   
anything right now. 

I quickly made my way around the enormous buffet and shoveled a bit of everything on to my plate. I couldn’t see mom anywhere in the dining room, and that was probably a good thing. She would most   
likely kill me for “eating so unhealthy and not minding my waistline”. 

Well, to hell with my waistline, I thought to myself as I dug into the food. The bacon tasted amazing. And the scrambled eggs were basically out of this world. All nice and creamy and perfect. I want to eat here every day.

I was considering tasting the pancakes when I saw Greta coming into the dining room. Her blue gaze lingered on my face for a second and then she smiled. 

Obviously, I choked on my coffee and had to cough violently to clear my throat. I could have sworn I saw Greta laugh at me, and I immediately began scolding myself. Why was it that I couldn’t act like a normal person around this woman? 

 

That day, I found out how boring hotels actually could be. Looking past all the glamour and extravagance, the place was actually pretty boring.   
I had tried the swimming pool again (this time with no mysterious footsteps) and I had tried the fitness room where I had spent a few hours punching a bag rather violently. That method sometimes worked when I’ve had a run in with my mother or if I were just generally frustrated like I was now. 

After wandering around aimlessly for a while, I decided to give The Terrace Lounge another shot. 

The guy at the bar shot me a look but didn’t say anything when I sat down in one of the high barstools. 

The bar was pretty deserted. Everybody was probably downstairs in the dining room where the conference was taking place. 

“Can I get you anything, Miss?” the bartender asked me. 

“Strawberry Daiquiri?” I said. It sounded more like a question than an actual order. 

He raised an eyebrow and glanced at my ripped, black jeans, my tanktop. “How old are you?” 

“Twenty one,” I said automatically and stuck my chin in the air. 

He didn’t believe me. That much was obvious. His face oozed of disbelief, but he never the less went around the counter and started preparing my drink. 

Damn right I deserve a drink for wandering around in this hotel all day.

That was when I heard a soft, melodic velvety laughter. I turned around on the chair and quickly spotted the source for the laughter. 

Greta was sitting nonchalantly in one of the booths. The lights in the bar was dimmed slightly. That was probably why I didn’t notice her at first. But she had seen me, and she was clearly laughing at me.   
Again. 

I hopped of the barstool. I don’t know why, but for some unexplainable reason, I went over to her and asked: “Can I sit here?” 

“You may.” She answered quietly. 

“Thanks.” I sat down and breathed a sigh of relief. Now I didn’t have to see the bartender judge me as I sipped my illegal drink. 

“Why are you always at bars alone?” she asked. 

I raised an eyebrow. So she did remember meeting me at the bar.

I shrugged lightly. “My mother is attending the conference.” 

“Ah.” 

“Maura Welles,” I said automatically. “Maybe you’ve heard of her?” 

“No, I have never heard that name before,” Greta said. 

“Oh.” That was surprising. I was used to people always knowing my mother’s name, and immediately fawning when they found out she was my mother. 

But Greta didn’t. 

“Are you here for the conference?” I asked and looked at Greta. She had taken off her hat and I found myself being slightly obsessed with the way her chestnut curls danced around her face when she moved her head. 

“Yes, I suppose you could say that.” 

Vague answer much? “So, are you a doctor?” I probed 

“A doctor?” she repeated and now she was laughing again. “No, I am not a doctor. And I’m not here for business either. Just pleasure.” 

“Okay.” I said. My mouth suddenly felt slightly dry. 

A pause followed, and I couldn’t decide whether it was awkward or not. Luckily, the bartender came over with my drink and “saved me”. 

“Strawberry Daiquiri again?” Greta said and raised a perfectly sculped eyebrow. 

“Yeah.” I took a sip. It was actually pretty good. 

“Is that the only drink you know?” 

“Of course not,” I firmly denied. But I actually didn’t know that many drinks. 

Another pause followed, and I tried to concentrate on enjoying my drink, but I ended up looking at Greta’s hands. The way she curled her nimble fingers around the cup in front of her was enticing.

“You are not twenty one.” She said plainly, and my head snapped up again. 

“And what makes you so certain?” I challenged. 

She laughed almost sweetly. “Forgive me dear, but you are as green as can be.” 

I scoffed and didn’t comment on it. Instead I took a sip of my drink. 

“How old are you?” she asked. 

“Twenty one.” 

She narrowed her ice blue eyes at me, and for some reason that only accentuated her beauty. “Try again.” 

“Seventeen,” I admitted, and my confidence vanished in thin air. 

“Seventeen,” she repeated and shook her head. She almost sounded a little sad. 

“Eighteen in May,” I quickly amended.

Greta’s only answer was a raised eyebrow. 

I took another sip of my drink. But I couldn’t enjoy it. I was getting annoyed. I felt awfully seventeen for some reason. A bloody child. I pushed the drink away with a slight scowl. Maybe I should find another place to hang out. A place where it wasn’t likely that the bartender would bust me for underage drinking. 

“May I?” Greta asked and nodded towards my drink. 

“I- yes,” I said slightly befuddled over her request. Trying to be helpful I reached for the drink and handed it to her. Our fingertips brushed together and the smile she flashed me was like a punch straight   
to the gut. 

“Thank you,” she said warmly.

“You’re welcom…” I trailed off completely when she placed the straw between her lips and took a sip of the fruity drink. 

Man, it’s warm in here. Couldn’t they at least open a window in here? 

“This is a good drink,” Greta said and licked her lips.

“Yeah.” I said halfheartedly. 

She pushed it back towards me, a silent challenge to take a drink. 

I did just that and noted that there was no trace of red lipstick on the straw. Impressive. I always left lipstick marks everywhere. 

“Don’t you want one yourself?” I asked and nodded towards my drink. 

“Are you offering to buy me one?” there was that amusement again.

“Yeah. If that’s what you want.”

“That’s very kind of you, but no thanks,” Greta said lowly. “I prefer having a clear head at all times.” 

I took a sip of my drink as I considered that. Maybe she’s a lightweight. But for some reason, I couldn’t quite imagine a woman like Greta getting really drunk. She was far too sophisticated. 

And now I was staring again. At her pale, slender fingers. Her face and flawless complexion. Her perfect curls. I wonder what sort of product she uses in her hair? I wouldn’t mind having her styling my hair. Or just touching my hair in general.

Wait, what? I blinked a little. Where did that come from? Maybe I was the lightweight. Maybe I should put this drink away. 

Greta flashed me a little smile. 

“How long are you gonna stay?” I asked. So, now you’re just blurting out random questions. Interesting. 

“At this hotel, I mean,” I rambled and felt every bit foolish. 

“Only for the weekend,” Greta said.

I nodded slightly. For some reason, that made me happy. She was a familiar face. And even though I didn’t know her well she was at least an acquaintance. I wouldn’t be completely alone at this huge hotel. 

My phone made a slight buzzing sound, and I quickly checked the message from Hannah. She claimed that she “missed me like crazy”. 

I don’t know how long I texted her, but when I looked up, Greta was gone. Just like that. Had slipped out of the bar while I was texting. Damn. I felt an unexpected and unwelcome pang of disappointment. I wouldn’t have minded talking to her for a few more minutes. She seemed like an interesting woman. 

Buzzing. Something was buzzing. And it wasn’t just my head after having a drink. The buzzing came from my pocket. 

For some reason, I felt completely lightheaded as I found my phone in my pocket and swiped to answer the call. “Hello?” 

“Hey stranger,” came Allen’s voice in the other end. 

“Allen. Hey.” I said a bit lamely. 

He sniggered. “How are you doing? Did you find something to do?” 

“Yeah, I used the hotel pool and found the fitness area,” I told him. 

“Oh. Cool. And what are you doing right now? Did you go back to your room to watch some bad Netflix like we talked about?” he laughed. 

“Yeah,” I said and went along with it. I didn’t even know why I was lying. I had absolutely no reason to lie whatsoever. It made no sense. 

“That sounds good. What are you watching?” 

“Friends.” 

“Which episode?” 

“The one were Rachel is crushing on Joey.” 

“That’s one of my favorites,” Allen said. “I wish I could watch it with you.”

“Yeah, that could have been nice. We should have a Friends marathon when I get home.” 

“Deal,” Allen laughed. 

We talked for a few more minutes, and then I lied and told him that I could hear room service knock on my door. 

As I hung up, I wondered exactly why I was lying. Lying was stupid, wasn’t it? 

I emptied the rest of my drink in one go and went up to the counter. “I’d like to pay for my drink, please.” 

“Your friend has already paid for it, miss.” 

I blinked. Had Greta paid for my drink? Why? 

I couldn’t answer that, but I was grateful. Now I didn’t have to withstand any remarks about underage drinking. The bartender appeared to be thinking higher of me, now that Greta could vouch for me. 

I left the bar and wandered back to the elevator. The hallways were empty, but I could hear laughter from the dining room downstairs. I glanced at my phone. It was pretty late. Mother would probably not make an appearance today. But that didn’t bother me. I didn’t need her to breathe down my neck. Our relationship was best when we weren’t together. 

Bling. The elevator door opened, and I stepped inside. To my disappointment, it was empty. I’d had some sort of vague idea that Greta would be there like this morning, but maybe she had gone to bed.   
She probably had. It was rather late.


	7. Chapter Seven

The next morning, my living nightmare began. 

Well, not in the morning. I actually had the entire morning to myself to do whatever I wanted. So I ended up watching a scandalous amount of Netflix.

It was by afternoon the horrors began. Mom came barging in, in a flurry of her usual, hectic energy and demanded that I “made myself presentable” for the dinner. 

There was nothing to it. Arguments would be wasted. 

So, I did my mothers bidding and did my makeup. And not the usual way I did it. a bit of mascara would definitely not be enough. 

I curled my hair. I lined my lips and filled them out with pale pink lipstick. Dabbed a bit rosy blush on my pale cheeks. 

Then I changed into the dusky pink dress mother had selected for me. I immediately cringed the second I had zipped it all the way up. It was too tight everywhere. My thighs were literally being pushed together by the tight fabric. It was too tight across my shoulders and it gnawed into my armpits. 

And it was most definitely too tight on my front, too. It showed of my body in ways I didn’t feel comfortable with. 

I didn’t feel comfortable with mirrors, either. I never liked what I saw in mirrors. I never felt a rush of pride when I saw myself. It was always oh, well. There I am again I guess. That and nothing more. I looked okay but that was it. 

I saw no point with parading around in this dress all night. I saw no point with being introduced to one hot shot doctor after another. 

I don’t even want to be a doctor. I don’t want my mother’s life, for fucks sake! I thought to myself as I stepped into my high heels. Those added several inches to my height. Now I was sticking even more out than before. Great. Just fucking amazing. 

I pursed my lips as I looked at my reflection again. I could barely recognize myself. Was that blonde barbie doll really me? That gangly creature with her hair styled and her body squeezed into a tight dress? 

My neatly plucked eyebrow rose, and my brown eyes narrowed. 

I should never be allowed to wear a dress again. I could sass anyone into oblivion when I wore a pair of ripped jeans and a tanktop, but all my confidence went completely out of the window when I was wearing a dress. 

Knock, knock, knock.

“I do hope you’re ready, Celine. We’re on a tight schedule.” 

I bit back a harsh response as I opened the door for my mother. She looked ridiculously sharp in her grey dress and perfectly styled hair. 

“You look beautiful, sweetie,” she said. And it could have been a compliment. Almost. If it hadn’t been followed by an immediate: “You could almost be a lady.” 

“Thanks,” I said flatly. 

Her deep-set blue eyes narrowed as her gaze fell upon my hands. More specifically, my nails. 

“Are you gonna wear that nail polish, honey?” she asked sweetly, but I could see how her jaw tightened. 

I looked down at my hands and my pastel blue nail polish. I couldn’t see anything wrong with it. At least it wasn’t black like the ones I normally favored. 

“Yes,” I said plainly. “I’m gonna wear this nail polish.” 

Her jaw tightened again. 

“I’d like to think people will look at my face and not my nails,” I continued. 

She fruitlessly brushed invisible dust off my dress and then she handed me a small, white and probably over expensive clutch. “Take this with you. And don’t lose it. It’s Hermès.” 

She left the hotel room and I sniggered quietly. It would appear that I had won this slanging match. 

But she would probably find some sort of way to get back at me. She always did. 

I sighed as I grabbed the clutch and followed my mother’s hectic energy. 

 

The dinner itself was tolerable. There was plenty of food. 

It was what was going on afterwards I found to be slightly unbearable. 

Mother had a grand time mingling with her hotshot colleague friends, but sadly that didn’t make her leave me alone. Oh, no. I had to be dragged around like some sort of show horse or award winning dog. I had to be introduced to doctors I would probably never see again. 

“Doctor Garnett, this is my daughter Celine,” mom said, and I shook hands with a middle aged, smiling woman who clearly dyed her hair every 2 weeks to keep the grey streaks away. 

“Doctor Garnett, nice to meet you,” I said automatically and felt as if my cheeks might crack from fake smiling all night long. 

“Celine,” Doctor Garnett said, and I suffocated a smile. The way she pronounced my name. Céline. It was a bit laughable. Oh, god have mother told her that we are from France or something like that? 

“You must be so proud of your mother,” Doctor Garnett said warmly. 

“So proud,” I echoed. 

“And I hear that you are quite the bright young lady,” the middle aged doctor continued. “Perhaps we’ll be fortunate enough to see you in the hospital in a few years?” 

“I…” 

“Absolutely,” mother interrupted and wrapped an arm around my shoulder. “Celine will be following in my footsteps.” 

“And she’ll make a wonderful doctor,” said Doctor Garnett warmly. “How can she anything else with a mother like you?” 

They both laughed. Doctor Garnett genuinely, and my mother a bit more falsely. 

A waiter arrived with drinks on a small silver trey and all three of us took a glass of champagne. 

“A pity your husband couldn’t join us tonight,” Doctor Garnett interjected. 

I nearly choked on my champagne. Exactly what kind of lies had my mom been telling this poor woman? 

“Why don’t you take a walk around and introduce yourself, Celine dear?” mother said. I promptly took that suggestion and left her to explain her lies. 

I did my best to mingle, but unfortunately that only lead to other doctors “attacking” me and started asking me about my “plans for the future”. It was funny how they all assumed that I was gonna be in   
the same business as my mother. 

What are you leaning towards then? Surgeon? Pediatrician? Cardiology? Perhaps Neurology? Or maybe even Oncology? 

Nope, actually I’m leaning more towards movie instructor or writer. Something creative, you know? 

Yeah, no. I couldn’t say that. So, instead I smiled and went along with it. Blurted out something random in the medical field. 

I didn’t know exactly how, but someday I would escape to New York. Someday I would be able to look out at New York’s skyline with a cup of coffee in my hand thinking I made it. 

I would get away from Queen Anne and Seattle and my mom. I would settle down in New York and write and drink tons of coffee. And be happy. 

With Allen. I smiled as I slinked past another suit. Me and Allen. Together in New York. That was all I wanted for the future. 

And right now, I wanted to ditch this dinner. 

So, I snuck past all the suits and over expensive dresses and quietly slipped out of the crowded and too-warn dining room. 

 

It felt nice to get away from the crowd, and for a moment I considered to go outside and get some fresh air. Or maybe just hail a cab and go home. 

I scoffed. Of course, I couldn’t do that. But it sure was a tempting thought. 

Looking past going home, there were two things I wanted to do right now. I wanted to get out of these killer shoes. And I wanted to get as far away from my mother as possible. I had been far too   
exposed to Maura Welles’ tricks tonight. I had to get away. 

So, I started walking aimlessly. Took the first elevator and pressed a random button. I didn’t really care were the elevator took me, as long as it took me away. 

I ended up at the very bottom. Literally. The elevator brought me down to the swimming pool again. Not exactly the place I had planned to end up, but I didn’t complain. The pool was most likely gonna   
be empty at this hour. Maybe I could take of my shoes and soak my feet for a while. They could sure need it after being trapped in those fucking high heels for an entire night. 

Next time I’ll wear converse, I vowed and then chuckled darkly. Like my mother would ever allow that. 

The pool room was so quiet. I couldn’t hear the party and I was immensely grateful for that. I really needed to rest my head. 

The only thing I could hear was the sound of the water. The smell of chlorine was hanging in the air, and the water looked so incredibly tempting I was beginning to regret not changing into a bathing   
suit. 

But I could take of my shoes, and I did. And I definitely didn’t hesitate before I shoved my feet into the water. Ahh. Much better. I’m pretty sure this is heaven. I wiggled my feet slightly and closed my eyes. 

This felt absolutely incredible. After a night’s masquerade, there was nothing better than to have a moment in solitude. Seriously, this gotta be heaven. Yep, pretty damn sure it is. 

Suddenly, my eyes snapped open. A sound behind me had caught my attention. And now I’m pretty damn sure I’m not alone. 

The poltergeist returns. Seriously, I would have to write about this. A fancy hotel invaded by a mean poltergeist was just too good of a story to let go. 

Maybe that’ll be my big break. The book that will make headlines, I allowed myself to dream as I looked around to find the source of the sound. 

And it didn’t take me long to find it. Woops, book cancelled. There’s no poltergeist here. Damn. That would have made for an interesting book. And no amphibian man either. 

Nope, it wasn’t a ghost or a fish man from another world. It was Greta. She was sitting nonchalantly on one of the sun loungers with a book in her lap. 

I tilted my head curiously at the odd behavior. I found it interesting that she was down here alone while everybody else was upstairs. 

And once again, I found myself to be oddly intrigued by this woman and her behavior. I quietly cleared my throat to let her know I was here. And I immediately felt dumb. Of course, she already knew I   
was here. Duh. I hadn’t exactly been quiet. 

You’re a stalker, I dully informed myself as I caught myself staring at her again. Her midnight blue dress, her long legs and the way she crossed and uncrossed her ankles to find a comfortable position.   
Her hands and the way her fingers curled around the book. Suddenly, she raised one hand and tugged a curl behind her ear. 

Look up, I silently begged. Come on, look up. Just once. 

But she didn’t. Damnit. If I wanted her to look at me, I would have to do more than just clear my throat.

“What are you doing down here alone?” I asked. Nice. She’s reading, you moron. Might as well drown yourself. 

“I had a book I wanted to finish, and my room is just above the dining room. Too much noise,” Greta said without looking up.

Ah. Our rooms were opposite each other, so I knew what she meant.

“What are you reading?” I asked. Maybe I was nagging her now, but I couldn’t help it. I wouldn’t be satisfied until she looked at me. 

“Misery,” she said shortly. 

Unfortunately, that only made me even more interested. “I loved the movie. Kathy Bates was brilliant. And scary. But that was kind of what she was aiming for, right? I mean, she did win an Oscar…” 

I was babbling. And to the worst person imaginable. What did my opinion matter to this sophisticated woman who just wanted to be left in peace to read? My cheeks reddened. 

If you’re done sticking your foot in your mouth, maybe you should just leave well enough alone. 

“Have you never read the book?” 

My head snapped up again. “Uh… No, I haven’t,” I admitted almost sheepishly. 

“That’s a mistake,” Greta said and clicked her tongue. “The movie is fine but doesn’t quite do the book justice.” 

“I’ll have to buy a copy,” I said. 

Greta carefully put a bookmark in between the pages. “What are you doing down here alone?” she inquired. 

I shrugged. “Too many people upstairs I guess.” 

She smirked as she- finally! - looked up at me. “You’re not exactly dressed for swimming.” 

“I, uh, wasn’t planning on going in the water. I just needed to get away from all the white hospital garbs,” I joked. 

“Hospital garbs?” she echoed and raised an eyebrow. “Have something against doctors?” 

“No, of course not. I just wish people wouldn’t shove the profession down my throat all the time.” Wait, why am I telling you that? 

“And who wants you to become a doctor?” Greta asked and cocked her head. 

“My mother.” I muttered, now thoroughly embarrassed over this half-personal conversation with a complete stranger. 

“Oh. Meeting other people’s expectations can be tough.” She agreed. 

“Yeah,” I said. But I doubted she had ever dealt with anything like that. She didn’t strike me as the type who let herself being pushed around by anyone. 

“Especially if you have other plans for the future,” Greta continued. 

“I would like to steer clear of hospitals in the future,” I joked lamely. 

She laughed, and the sound liquefied my otherwise well-functioning stomach muscles.

“I don’t like hospitals either,” she stated matter of factly. Her ice blue eyes were still sparkling with amusement. 

“But then again, who does?” I mused. 

“Touché.” 

This time, I was the one to laugh. I wiggled my feet in the water again and listened to the soft splash-splash. I dared looking at Greta again, and I wondered why a woman like her preferred to be down   
here and read when she could be upstairs and mingle with the crowd. I was certain she would be capable of making them swoon. She would blend in perfectly. Nobody would question her authority or   
doubt her words if she told them she was a doctor. They would simply buy it because of the confidence radiating from her. 

You’re staring at her again. 

Right. I was. I averted my eyes and looked at my hands instead. 

“What do you want to be?” she asked a bit out of nowhere. 

“Sorry?” 

“You don’t want to be a doctor,” Greta clarified. “So, what do you want to be then?” 

“Oh…” for a second I was completely thrown off by her sudden interest in my plans, but I recovered and said: “Movie director. Possibly. Or a writer. Sometimes I’m leaning more towards writing.” 

“And what do you want to write about?” 

“Whatever life throws at me? Something that hadn’t already been written? And preferably with a happy ending.” 

Greta nodded. Clearly, she was taking my nonsense seriously. “That sounds like a reasonable plan you have for yourself.” 

“Thanks.” At least you think so.

“I envy you.” She said, throwing me off completely again. 

“What?” 

“You’re still young enough to be allowed to change your mind and ask questions and make mistakes,” Greta said. “That must be nice.” 

“Actually, there isn’t room for that many mistakes in my life.” 

And why am I telling you that? I literally had no filter around this woman. Control your mouth diarrhea, damnit. 

Greta looked at me with her ice blue gaze, but this time I kept my mouth firmly shut. I had already said enough. 

“There is always room for mistakes,” she said plainly. 

I didn’t know what she meant by that. And I couldn’t for the life of me imagine why she lectured me about it. She didn’t look like had ever made a mistake in her entire life. I knew a perfectionist when I   
saw one. 

I settled for a nod. I didn’t know what to say. 

Greta suddenly rose from the sun lounge and shook her head, so her curls danced around her face. “Mistakes are what shapes us.” She said. 

Another cryptic statement I didn’t know how to respond to. So I nodded again. 

Greta elegantly sauntered away, and as she passed me she stopped for a moment. Smiled, and said: “I like your nail polish.” 

I looked down dumbly at my blue nail polish. “Thank you.” 

She smiled again, and the sound of her high heels echoed in the room. 

I watched mesmerized as she walked away, and it only when the sound of her footsteps became faint that I realized something. 

“Hey, you forgot your…” the words died on my lips when I realized I was shouting at nothing. She was already gone. And chasing after her through the hallway wasn’t something I was planning on doing.   
That would only make me feel like an even bigger fool. 

I pulled my feet out of the water and padded over to the sun lounge where Greta had been seated a few minutes ago. It was probably ridiculous, but I was certain I could smell her perfume as I bent down and picked the book up. I would return it to her tomorrow. It was getting late and I couldn’t possibly bang on her door at this hour. Plus, I was tired and wanted to get out of this dress. But tomorrow. 

Tomorrow I would definitely return the book. It was common curtesy. 

I grabbed my shoes and let them dangle from one hand as I left the swimming pool and wandered back to the elevator. 

When I got back to the hotel room, I immediately changed out of the dress and into a pajama instead. I could have buried myself in Netflix, but I chose to rest the book against my pillow as I shuffled under the covers and made myself comfortable. I chuckled a little as I caught a glimpse of my fingers. She had complimented my nail polish. It had been right of me to not take it off. 

Then I opened the book. The pages smelled of pineapples.........


	8. Chapter Eight

Thanks to an unexpected nightmare, I didn’t get much sleep that night. I didn’t even dare attempting to go back to sleep and dream about the accident. About metal breaking and tires screeching and red blinking lights from the ambulance. 

I would rather stay awake the entire night than wake up bathed in sweat and gasping for air again. 

So, I ended up reading quite a bit of Misery. Not all of it, but a good chunk. And I had to agree with Greta. The book was so much better. Much more detailed. 

I would have liked to hang on to it. Just to read the ending. But when the sky began to lighten outside, I still wasn’t finished, and the book wasn’t mine. I had to give it back to its rightful owner. I couldn’t just keep it. 

So, after estimating that it wasn’t too early to knock on Greta’s door, I hopped out of bed and got dressed in a pair of ripped jeans and yet another tanktop. I pulled a hoodie over my head and gave my hair a quick brush. Then I opened the door and tiptoed into the quiet hallway. For once, I couldn’t hear the other guests. Maybe they had already headed downstairs to continue the conference. Or maybe there had been alcohol last night, and they were sleeping it off. 

I curled my hand into a fist, prepared to knock on Greta’s door when I suddenly heard her voice. At first, I thought that she wasn’t alone in there, but after ten seconds or so, I realized that she was in the middle of a phone conversation with someone. And it appeared to be a serious conversation. 

“And you’re absolutely certain? There isn’t anything… Yes. No. No. I understand.” 

She sighed quietly, and I was torn between staying put or returning to my room. I was listening in on a private conversation. That wasn’t a polite thing to do. But for some reason I found myself unable to step away from the door. 

“So, you’re telling me to just...?” she didn’t finish the sentence. The person in the other end was clearly interrupting her. 

“Alright,” Greta said. “I guess I should have been better prepared for that, but… No. No, you’re right. This is not what I hoped for. Okay. I will. Yes. Thank you. Yes. And a good day to you too. Goodbye.” 

I heard a soft thud. Probably the sound of a phone being sat down on a nightstand. Then footsteps- was she walking back and forward in there? - and then: “C’est des conneries!”

I didn’t know what that meant, but I knew the tone well enough to have a pretty good idea about Greta’s state of mind. 

I almost chuckled. Just when I thought this woman couldn’t possibly be more sophisticated, she cussed in French. Seriously, how many people did that nowadays? 

“J'en ai ral le cul!” 

Now I really wanted to chuckle. Pardon my French. Literally.

As soon as I had quelled my amusement over Greta’s way to express her feelings, I felt an unexpected twinge of concern. Something was wrong. Whatever that phone call had been, had not been good   
news. I was smart enough to deduce that. 

But I never found out what the problem was. Suddenly, the door was ripped open and I almost yelped in surprise and nearly dropped the book. 

“Miss Welles!” Greta said. My sudden appearance had startled her too. She sounded quite breathless. 

“I’m sorry, I just… Your book.” I was suddenly incapable of forming a coherent sentence. And it wasn’t just because Greta had startled me. It was her wardrobe that suddenly made my tongue crumble like   
a dead leaf in my mouth. 

She was wearing a floor length cream silk nightgown with tiny straps. And over it, she was wearing a luxurious, white silk bathrobe so long it dragged behind her. For some reason, her hair looked perfect and definitely not like she had just slept. 

Maybe she hadn’t. There were dark circles under her ice blue eyes, and for a moment I was concerned. What was robbing her of her sleep?

“Can I help you with something, Miss Welles?” 

Right. Snap out of it, you idiot. “You forgot your book by the swimming pool, and last night it was so late, and I didn’t want to bother you, that’s why I didn’t gave it back right away, and…” 

“I see. Thank you. That was kind of you.” She interrupted my frantic nonsense, and I couldn’t blame her for it. My babbling had been leaning towards mouth diarrhea. 

“May I have it?” Greta asked. 

“What?” 

“The book, Miss Welles. May I have it back?” she clarified and reached out after the book. 

Oh right. Idiot. I was hanging on to the book for dear life. “Of course. Yeah.” I said and handed the book over. 

“Thank you. I did wonder what had happened to it.” 

“I’m sorry,” I muttered. “I should have left it outside your door instead of…” 

“It’s quite alright. Have you read it?” 

“Some of it.” 

“And how did you find it?” 

“It’s a very good book,” I assured. “So much better than the movie.” 

Greta smiled. “It seems almost a shame that you miss the ending. Why don’t you hang on to it for a while?” she handed the book back towards me. 

“Oh no, Greta, you shouldn’t... I mean… I’m sure I can find it at the library when I get back home.” 

“You know my name?” she said and raised an eyebrow. 

It only then occurred to me that I had said her name. “Yeah. You told me that night. At the bar.” 

“Did I? Hmm. Perhaps I did,” she mused. “I think I’ll spare you a trip to the library this time. Finish the book. But I want it back before you leave.”

“O-of course. Thank you.” 

“Don’t mention it.” Greta said. And then she shut the door. Just like that. With absolutely no indication that she was ending the conversation. 

I stood completely befuddled outside the door. The smell of roses filled my nostrils, and it took me a solid minute to realize the scent was coming from Greta’s perfume. 

My head felt a bit muddled when I returned to my room with Misery tugged safely under my arm. She had leant me the book. I had listened in on a private conversation, startled her, and she had leant me   
the book. She didn’t have to do that. 

I lied back down on the bed. Sprawled myself carelessly with my feet high in the air. Then I opened the book and tried to resume my reading. 

But for some reason I kept thinking of Greta’s French exclamations. A pity I didn’t know how to spell them. Otherwise I would definitely have googled them. 

 

I didn’t even see mother that morning. She simply sent a text message instead of showing her face. 

So, in other words, I was once again left to myself. I was free to do whatever I wanted. So I spent most of the morning reading Misery. And it was exactly as good as it had been last night. 

After a while, I felt like I should do something else, though. So I decided to head downstairs to the fitness room. I needed to do something that wasn’t reading. I needed to move my body somehow. Otherwise I would go crazy. 

I was beginning to go a bit stir crazy in this hotel, and maybe punching a bag would quell that feeling. I changed into fitness appropriate clothing and left my room. 

Next was summoning the elevator. To my annoyance, it was packed with suits. Literally. It was crammed with important looking business men and high-class women. I had to wiggle to even fit in the elevator. And pushing the correct button was out of the question. The elevator was too stuffed. I had to wait until all the important people decided to get out of the elevator. 

I ran a finger through my hair and listened absentmindedly to their mindless chatter. They were talking about the conference. About their paychecks and how difficult it was for them to manage everything at once. 

I snorted quietly. Such problems. 

The elevator suddenly made a “krr, krr”-sound. The floor wobbled slightly, and my stomach made a flipflop at the sudden disturbance. And then… The elevator stopped. Just like that. The lights went out and the room turned completely black around me. 

That seemed to make all the important people snap out of it. immediately, the elevator was filled with their complaints. One of them pressed the alarm button again and again. 

The sound echoed in my ears. It reminded me of the sound of the sirens from the ambulance. And the darkness in the elevator… The small, cramped room. The feeling of being shoved into the wall. My   
heart sped up. Metal and steel colliding. The car colliding with the other car. The horrible, blunt sound when it happened. My lungs being squashed. The darkness. The trapped feeling. I can’t get out, I   
can’t get out. I’m stuck. The seatbelt is digging into my flesh. 

I could hear my own breath coming out in gasps, and I could feel droplets of sweats trickling down my forehead and down my neck. I need to get out of here right now. Please, let me get out, let me get out. 

The guy in the grey suit was still pushing the alarm button frantically. A few of the others were yelling. “Hello? Hello? We’re stuck down here! Hello?!” 

Oh god, shut up. Just shut up. The sound exploded in my ears and I felt tempted to slam my fists against my head. Or the wall. Either would be good. 

I have to get out. Please. I have to. My throat felt tight. I couldn’t breathe. The world began to blur slightly around the edges. 

“Is everything alright?” 

I turned my head and immediately wondered why I hadn’t noticed Greta in the elevator. She was literally standing right next to me. 

“I don’t like…” my throat felt dry and I tried again: “I’m not good with small spaces,” I croaked out. “Or darkness.” 

The guy pressed the alarm button again. 

“Or loud noises,” I added and winced. 

Greta nodded once and turned to the business man: “No offense, dear. But I think the good people upstairs already knows were stuck down here.” 

The business man looked like he had no idea what Greta meant by her statement. 

“Perhaps you could stop abusing that alarm button?” she continued silkily. “We’re all gonna end up with tinnitus because of it.” 

There were a few agreeing mutters. 

The guy glared at Greta but moved his hand from the alarm button. The elevator was finally silent. But unfortunately, it was still pitch black down here. And I was still being squashed against the wall. My heart sped up again. 

“Breathe,” Greta said quietly. 

“Easier… said than… done,” I croaked halfheartedly. The panic attacks weren’t new to me, but it had been a while since I had one this serious. It was a long time I had been triggered like this. The elevator   
was still blurring around the edges, and the floor felt woozy even though it wasn’t. 

Suddenly, I felt fingers longer and slimmer than my own wrapping around my wrist and squeezing softly. 

“Breathe,” Greta said again. “In and out. Slowly.” 

I tried to do as she said, and her fingers encircling my wrist seemed to keep me grounded for some reason. They made me stay conscious. 

“You’re wearing gloves,” I noted. Greta’s fingers were indeed covered by some soft, velvety material. 

“I often get cold hands,” Greta replied. “No matter what I do, they always get cold.” 

“Ever tried sticking them into a fireplace?” and that’s probably the dumbest thing you’ve ever said. Congratulations.

But Greta just laughed softly and melodically. “I must admit I’ve never tried that method. But perhaps I should. I’d get third degree burns, but I would never have to worry about my fingers ever again.” 

I giggled and winced at how high pitched it sounded in the quiet elevator. 

Greta laughed again, and her dark, fruity chuckles made the floor wobble again. But I had a hunch, I was the only one who could feel that particular wobble. 

Then, as sudden as it had happened, the lights switched back on and the elevator came to live with a “wrr, wrr”. 

Now the murmurs of delight filled the elevator. Then a voice spoke over the intercom: “We apologize for the minor issue with the elevator, our experts have found a temporary solution, and are working   
on finding what caused the disturbance. We wish you a good day.” 

“Our experts,” I scoffed. “I’ll bet ten bucks their experts are just one guy sitting and shouting at the computer screen.” 

Greta chuckled softly. “Yes, you are probably right about that.” 

She had let go of my wrist, I noted. And for some reason, it irritated me. It had felt so calming. And more importantly, it had helped me through the panic attack. 

I stole a glance at her. She was dressed in black slacks, a burgundy blouse and a crisp, black blazer over it. Her hands were covered by thin, black gloves and she was wearing her pillbox hat again. How did she manage to look so sophisticated all the time? And that hair. How did she manage to make her hair do that? I always ended up failing miserably when I tried to curl my hair. I bet she uses real   
curlers. I bet she sits in front of her mirror every night and wrap her hair around curlers. 

And why does that matter? Why was I so interested in Greta’s bedtime routine? 

The elevator stopped again, but this time like it was supposed to. The door opened, and the business men and high class women stepped out. I was certain, I caught a glimpse of my mother in the hallway, but a second later the elevator door closed, and my suspicion was never confirmed. 

Now it was just Greta and I left in the elevator. Once again, I found myself to be alone with this ridiculously sophisticated woman. Why does that keep happening? Maybe it would be better to be squashed against the wall by a few businessmen. 

I looked at her again. I wonder how old she is? Greta was hard to place on the “age-scale”. Thirty? Thirty one? Maybe thirty two? 

And why is that relevant? Why is her age of any importance to you? 

It’s not. Of course, it’s not. I was just wondering… 

“Are you alright?” 

I snapped out of it. “Yeah, thanks. I’m good. Thank you for making him stop.” 

“You’re welcome. Panic attack?” she guessed. 

“Yeah.” I admitted. And for some reason, I didn’t feel that usual shame at the admittance. 

“I see. Are you getting help?” Greta asked plainly. 

“What?” 

“Are you talking to someone about it?” 

“I… Yeah. I have my… my mother.” Lies. “And my boyfriend.” I said strained. 

“But not professional help?” 

“No.” I was beginning to wonder where she was going with her questions. Oh my god, is she a shrink or something? Have I just spilled everything to a shrink? 

Greta didn’t ask anymore questions though, and the next time the elevator stopped she left without giving me a second glance. 

Once again, I stood bemused as the intense smell of roses filled my nostrils. 

Beep-beep-beep-beep. What’s that? 

The beeping sound came from my pocket. Oh. Right. That would be your phone ringing, you moron. You better pick it up. 

“Hello?”

“Hey Celine! How are you doing? Dead from boredom?” 

“Hey, Michelle,” I said dryly. “Yes, I am dead. Definitely. You’re currently speaking to my ghost.” 

Michelle laughed. 

“It’s true!” I continued. “I was stuck in an elevator with a bunch of business men. That damn near killed me!” 

“I’m sure it did, Cel. I’m sure it did. What time are you and your mom coming home tomorrow?” 

“I don’t know. Why?” 

“Because you’re staying over at my place tomorrow. Duh.” 

“I am?” 

“Yes. You are. Hannah’s coming too. We’ve missed you for an entire weekend.”

“Alright fine. I’ll be here.” 

“Good. Have you heard from Allen?” 

Shit. Allen. Wasn’t I supposed to call him a half an hour ago? “Yeah. He checks in every day.” I said. 

“And is he still the eight wonder of the world?” 

“Of course he is. He’s great. The perfect guy.” 

“Aww,” she cooed. “Just hear you being all happy and in love with your beau.” 

“Jealous?” I teased sweetly. 

“Over the fact that my best friend stumbled over Mr. Goddamn-Near-Perfect-Disney-Guy? Nope, not at all.” 

“Yeah, you know what, for some reason I’m not convinced, Michelle.” 

“I better work on my acting then,” she chuckled. “Does Mr. Perfect have a brother by any chance?” 

“Actually yes. And he’s twelve. So, unless you’re interested in being known as a cradle ro…” 

“Eww! Stop talking, I’m begging you!” Michelle said, and I could almost hear how she cringed. 

I laughed as I stepped out of the elevator and headed towards the fitness room. “I wish you and Hannah were here. For a luxury hotel, this really sucks!” 

“I’m sorry, honey.” Michelle said. “So, I take it you haven’t mingled with the crowd?” 

“Not really, no. Well, there was that… That dinner where mom forced me to mingle with the crowd, but otherwise no.” 

“And you haven’t met any interesting people?” 

“Are you kidding me? There are only middle aged people in suits here!” I complained. 

Well, almost…

The image of Greta snuck into my mind before I had a chance to stop it. I cringed. What was my problem? I definitely shouldn’t be thinking of her. Had no business thinking about her. Let alone talk about her.

And I did indeed choose to keep my mouth shut about Greta. There was absolutely no reason to tell Michelle about her. I mean, why should I? It wasn’t like Greta was my friend or anything. She was simply a nice woman I kept bumping into all the time…


	9. Chapter Nine

The idea I’d had about going to the party the following day was very quickly shattered. 

Because it turned out, that the stupid conference was ending with an even stupider concert. And we’re not talking rock concerts. Oh no, a classical concert had been arranged. Apparently, it was a very   
“appropriate way” to end the conference. 

I wasn’t delighted when I found out. I was tired of being stuck at this over expensive hotel. I was tired of hearing my mother’s snobbish voice, and tired of wandering around in the long and empty hallways. 

But of course, I was forced to go with mother to the concert. I had no choice. 

I did however win one battle though. I refused to wear the pink dress again. That was my demand. If I was to wear that dress, I simply wouldn’t go to the concert. Simple as that. 

So, for once mother didn’t get it her way. I went to the concert in jeans and a tanktop and looked utter ridiculous next to all the fancy suits and business attires, but I felt good. And I looked like myself and not some barbie doll. 

So, while Michelle and Hannah partied I was stuck at a classical concert. It wasn’t that I minded classical music at all, but I very much minded the way my mother constantly whispered her complaints to the high and mighty doctor sitting next to her. She criticized everyone. The woman singing. The man on the piano. The orchestra. None of them were good enough. 

I felt ever so tempted to ask her to just shut the hell up. But as always, I held my tongue, and tried to enjoy the concert as best as I could, even though I wanted to go home. 

It wasn’t a half bad concert either. The guy on the piano was very good, as was the orchestra. The woman singing could do with a bit of training, but she was still fairly good. 

I closed my eyes and listened to the music. It didn’t take long before the sound of my mother’s voice fell away, and the music filled me entirely. 

Maybe classic music was in fact my thing. I had not paid it much attention before, but I definitely would. I made a quick decision about looking famous, classical pieces up on YouTube when I got back home. 

The music was consuming, and I almost felt a bit sad when the guy in charge of the conference came to the stage and announced that this was the final piece for tonight. He thanked everyone for   
attending the conference, and I zoned out as he spoke about the importance of this conference. 

I probably zoned out for longer than I thought, because suddenly people were applauding all around me as a woman carrying a violin came on stage. 

The sound of the violin filled the room, and I zoned out of again. Until something made me snap out of it. 

Greta was sitting fairly close to me and my mother, and for once, she wasn’t by herself. She was sitting next to a man. Not one of the suits from the elevators though. I vaguely recognized this man as someone I had been introduced to at that lame excuse for a party. 

I looked at them instead of the woman playing violin. Greta’s attention was fixated on the woman playing the violin, but the man sitting next to her was only paying attention to Greta. I wondered if he would notice if the woman on stage started to play rock music instead. 

Probably not. I saw how he leaned forward and whispered something in Greta’s ear. Greta looked up at that and flashed the man a rather beaming smile. Leaned a little closer and whispered something back. The man returned her smile, and I saw how he discreetly reached out and took her hand. Their fingers intertwined.

So, Greta had a boyfriend. Or a husband. That wasn’t very surprising. I would be more surprised if she didn’t have a boyfriend or a husband. But one thing I did find weird: the fact that I hadn’t seen them together the entire time they had been here. Greta had always been alone every single time I had bumped into her. 

Maybe we were stuck in similar situations. Maybe her boyfriend/husband was a ridiculously busy doctor who didn’t have time to be with his girlfriend/wife. Maybe that was the reason why she had been alone every time I had met her. 

But right now, Greta and the unnamed man seemed pretty domestic together as they sat there and held hands while watching the woman on stage playing the violin. 

I reminded myself that I was here to watch the concert. Not Greta. But seeing her made me remember that I was supposed to give her the book back before she left. I would do that once the concert had ended, I decided. 

Once the guy wrapped up and concluded the conference, mother immediately started chatting with Dr. Garnett. Probably about how dreadful she found the concert.   
I on the other hand, wandered into the hall, took the elevator and returned to my room. I quickly found what I was looking for and grabbed “Misery”. I had finished it last night, and Greta had said she wanted it back, hadn’t she? 

I was simply doing as I was told and returned the book. At least, that was what I told myself. Because maybe I had a hidden agenda. Maybe I saw this an excellent opportunity to knock on Greta’s door and say goodbye.

And so I did. Knock-knock. 

“Come in,” came the low and raspy response. 

I didn’t need to be told twice and opened the door. 

Greta looked surprise when she turned around. “Oh. Miss Welles.” 

“Hi.” I said a bit lamely. “I just came to…” I waved the book. 

“I see.” She smiled. “I’m glad you remembered.” 

“Should I just…?” I asked, even more vaguely and gestured to her open suitcase. Apparently, she was leaving. And there was no trace of the man she had been attending the conference with. How odd. 

“No, I’ll take it,” she said and gently grasped the book from me. 

Technically, I had done what I came to do. I had absolutely no excuse for hovering. But that was exactly what I did as I looked around in her hotel room. 

“Are you leaving?” I asked dumbly. Idiot. That’s her suitcase right there. Of course, she’s leaving. 

“Yes, my job here is done,” she nodded. “What about you? When are you leaving?” 

“Soon. I hope.” If I can drag my mom away from dr. Garnett, that is. 

I watched as she attempted to stuff the book into her suitcase, but the book slipped from her fingers and landed on the floor instead. I would have bent down to pick it up, but she was faster and quickly grabbed the book. As she did, I saw she had written her name inside it. Greta Adams. Adams. What an unusual last name. You didn’t meet many people with that name. Then she closed the suitcase.

She was on her way. I should be too. This was definitely my cue to leave. 

But I was reluctant. I wanted to know more about Greta and her unusual last name. I wanted to know where the man was, she was with. Why it looked like only one person had used this room. I wanted to   
know everything. And the idea of leaving this hotel room left me with a gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach. Because what was the chances that I would run into Greta again? 

Very slim. She and her husband/boyfriend was probably just in Seattle to attend the conference. And now that the conference is over, she’ll go home. I wonder where she lives? California? No, probably somewhere exotic. Maybe Paris. Yeah, she could definitely be a Parisian. I already know she speaks French. Or maybe she lives in Switzerland. Or New York. Or…

“Is everything alright, miss Welles?” 

I snapped out of it. “Yes, I’m fine. Sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” Greta said. “But I will have to drop the hotel key of at the front desk.” 

Translation: Get out of my room, little girl. You don’t have anything to do in here.

“Okay. Yeah. I’ll just… go. Goodbye, Greta.” 

“Goodbye, Miss Welles.” 

I left her hotel room, took the elevator downstairs to the lobby. I wanted to wait for mother. My hotel room was crawling with hotel clerks, cleaning up the room, so I couldn’t be there, and the idea of hanging out in my mother’s room was painful. 

I plopped down in one of the overly plushy chairs. My foot tapped a rhythm. Tap, tap. One, two, one, two. 

The elevator door opened again, and I saw Greta step out with her suitcase and holding firmly onto the handle of the violin case. She marched up to the counter and rang the little bell. She drummed her fingertips on the desk as she waited. 

I found myself watching her again. She was wearing that long coat with the big fur collar again, and a black pillbox hat was sitting on her neat curls. 

I wondered if she always looked so perfect. Did she ever have a bad hair day? A bad makeup day? Or maybe just a bad day in general. 

One of the hotel clerks emerged from the back room and flashed Greta a smile. “Miss Adams. Your cab should be here in two minutes.” 

“Thank you. I’m afraid I’m in a bit of a rush.” 

“I understand. Well, if you just sign these papers…” he pushed a sheet of papers across the counter, and Greta quickly signed them. 

“Thank you. I do hope your stay was satisfying.” 

“Very satisfying.” Greta said as she dropped the key on the counter. “Goodbye.” 

“Goodbye, Miss Adams. I do hope you’ll consider staying at our hotel again.” 

“Perhaps I will.” 

She grabbed the suitcase and the violin case and then she headed for the door. 

Where are you going? I wondered. Miss Adams. So she’s not married. Did her boyfriend leave before she did? That struck me as a really weird arrangement.

Suddenly, she stopped right by the door, turned around and smiled at me. I didn’t even know she knew I was there. 

But she did. And she acknowledged my presence by smiling at me. I smiled back, and something made itself present in my stomach. 

I didn’t get the chance to delve further into what that “something” was though. Greta turned around and walked out of the door. A moment later I saw her stuff her things into the trunk of a cab and then climb into the backseat. The cab took her away from the hotel and I felt another pang of disappointment in my stomach. 

And why was I so disappointed over seeing her walk out of this door? Possibly because she was the only reason I hadn’t bored myself to death during this conference. Or maybe because she was so interesting. One look at her and you wanted to know more immediately. 

“Come on, Celine. Let’s go. We’re done here.” 

I was pulled out of my train of thoughts by mother who stood by the desk and pressed the bell impatiently. 

I rose from my seat. It would appear that this was the end of our hotel stay. 

 

As per usual, mother was driving too fast on the way home, and my heart thrummed uncomfortably in my chest as I tried to tell myself to calm down. 

And mother paid little attention to the way I breathed. Too fast and shallowly. She didn’t notice the way my hands were curled around the edge of the seat and how I kept making sure I was wearing the seatbelt. 

Or maybe she did see it but simply chose to ignore it. 

It embarrassed her, how I felt. I knew that. The whole accident embarrassed her. She had never addressed it, but I could see it in her eyes. It annoyed her that I kept suffering under it and couldn’t just go   
about my business like she would have done it. 

I had tried to talk about it with her once. But she had dismissed it. Said that I shouldn’t keep wallowing in it. And then she had snapped that my reluctance about driving was ridiculous. I really don’t see   
the problem, Celine. It was the other driver’s fault. 

Maybe it was and maybe it wasn’t. The memories were a bit blurred in my mind. 

I could only remember the sound of metal colliding; the two cars hitting each other. That was what I had been told when I woke up on the hospital after being rescued from the car. I had hit my head quite severely. 

It didn’t take long before we reached our house, and as I dragged my suitcase up the stairs, my phone ringed and I smiled as I saw the caller ID. Allen. 

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey babe,” he chuckled. “You home yet?” 

“Just stepped inside.” 

“Oh. Awesome timing then. How was the concert?” 

“It was alright. I’m glad to be home though. It’s been a long extended weekend.” 

“Isn’t that the point of extended weekends?” he teased.

“Shut up,” I chuckled. “Idiot.” 

He laughed at that. “Do you want to hang out tomorrow? Fill me in your boring weekend?” 

“I’d love to. After school?” 

“Sounds good.” 

We quickly arranged to hang out at our favorite coffee place and then head back to his place. Watch a movie and maybe eat some gross food just for the hell of it. 

I was looking forward to seeing Allen again, and I quickly decided that this was the last time my mother would succeed in plucking me out of my surroundings and “plant” me at some random hotel while she swanned off with her fancy friends. 

I’m nearly eighteen. It’s about time I start rebelling against her. 

As I unpacked all my crap, Hannah and Michelle facetimed me. apparently, they were hanging out at Michelle’s together. I didn’t like that. It made me feel a little left out, but I didn’t tell them. 

“I’m considering burning this at the stake,” I told them as I flashed the pink, frilly dress in front of the camera. 

“I say do it,” Michelle said and wrinkled her nose. “Did she really make you wear this?” 

“Yup. I even wore heels.” 

“How about we do a ceremonial burning of it tomorrow then?” Hannah suggested and laughed. 

“I can’t tomorrow. I have a thing with Allen, so…” 

“A thing?” Hannah echoed and raised an eyebrow. 

“We’re gonna hang out at his place and watch a movie,” I shrugged and then an idea hit me. “Hey, you guys should join us! It could be so much fun.” 

“Don’t you want to be alone with him?” Michelle said conspiratorially and grinned. “You’ve been without him for four days.” 

“Ha, ha, ha.” I said dryly. “Of course, I want to be alone with him. But I also want to be with you guys. Someone slice me in two.”

“Sidesplitting,” Hannah said with that extra dry sarcasm she was an expert in. “Have fun with your boyfriend tomorrow, okay?” 

“But not too much,” Michelle interjected with a grin.

“Michelle!” I protested. 

“Or maybe you should,” she continued and grinned again. 

“You’re ridiculous,” I told her. 

She firmly denied that and pointed out that “you and Allen are crazy about each other”. 

I didn’t deny that statement but told her to give up her perverse state of mind for just five seconds. 

We teased each other back and forward until my suitcase was unpacked completely. Then I told them that I should probably go over some homework. Just in case. I didn’t want to fall behind. 

But the homework didn’t take very long, and surprisingly enough I ended up falling asleep. 

My dreams were weird and distorted due to my lack of sleep the previous night, and I struggled to make sense of them when I woke up, completely bewildered a few hours later. 

But there was one thing that was crystal clear. 

I had never followed the scent of pineapples before in my dreams…


	10. Chapter Ten

I felt groggy the next day. I hadn’t been sleeping very well and paying attention in school was an absolute nightmare. No pun intended. 

Not that I had trouble keeping up with school or anything. My grades were always fairly decent, but it simply didn’t interest me. The teacher talked and talked, and even though I knew the subject well, it just didn’t catch my attention. 

Nothing had recently. 

Except for Allen. The prospect of seeing him later was what kept me going. 

And when the school day finally ended, and I got to see him, it was every bit worth it. 

He was still the sweetest guy on earth. We could talk about nothing for hours. Tease each other and discuss movies until our faces turned blue. 

I had really hit the jackpot with him. 

However crappy and groggy I felt, Allen never failed to make me smile. 

As planned, we ended up at his place where we watched “Casablanca”, another of my favorites. I knew Allen preferred newer movies, and I found it so incredibly sweet that he wanted to watch this with me. 

And eventually, he seemed enthralled with what was going on the screen. But I, however began to feel ever so slightly uneasy. 

The problem wasn’t Allen. He was his usual, sweet self with his arm around me as we shared a bowl of popcorn. 

The problem wasn’t the chips. They were fine and tasted of sour cream and onion. My favorite flavor. Allen was quite the master when it came to choosing chips. 

The problem wasn’t the movie either. The movie was still every bit good as it had been the million other times I had watched it. And it was nice to watch it with someone for once. 

No, the problem was Ingrid Bergman. 

Suddenly, she reminded me of someone. 

So far, I had only associated that someone with Lauren Bacall, but I was beginning to realize that she had this classic Hollywood thing going on that made her look like that times starlets. Dye her hair   
blonde and she’ll probably look like Grace Kelly. 

I felt tempted to hit myself in the head. Several times. 

What business did I have thinking of Greta while I was watching a movie with my boyfriend? 

What business did I have thinking about Greta at all? 

It doesn’t make sense. I barely know her. And she’s probably long gone anyway. I mean, who knows where that cab took her? Probably to some airport. Yeah, I bet she’s travelling back to whatever fancy   
place she lives. 

You’re thinking about her again. 

My body jerked involuntarily at that. Why thank you, subconscience. 

“Are you okay?” Allen asked and turned his attention away from the screen. Apparently, he had felt me jerk. 

“Yeah. I’m fine,” I was quick to say. But actually, I felt tempted to kick myself now. It didn’t make sense. It really didn’t. She was just this random woman I had bumped into a few times. The only thing she   
had done, was saving me from an asshat in a bar and lending me a book. 

And save me from a panic attack.

Right. Thank you for bringing that up.

She had done that. With grace and elegance, she had managed to help me through a panic attack without me causing a scene. That was really something. Not many people could do that. That was why I   
had thought she was a shrink. But apparently not.

And you’re thinking about her again. 

I closed my eyes for a second. So I was. This was getting ridiculous. 

I don’t think you’re supposed to think about older women like that. 

No. No, I wasn’t. I was supposed to think about my sweet, caring, hazel eyed boyfriend next to me. That was what I was supposed to think of. And nothing else. 

And that was exactly what I was gonna do. Starting right now. 

I turned around, snuggled into him and then I kissed him. 

Allen chuckled a little. “I thought we were watching the movie?” 

“Isn’t this more interesting?” I replied as I wiggled until I was more or less sitting on his lap. 

“Definitely. What are we watching again?” he joked as his hands slid down to my hips. 

“No idea,” I said and went along on the joke. I wrapped my arms around his neck and it didn’t take long before his fingers locked in my long hair. 

I kissed him again, languidly and with all my might. I was probably just feeling a little weird because I haven’t slept and been away for four days. I didn’t like being plucked out of my familiar surroundings. 

Definitely reason enough to be feeling a little strange. 

The following Friday, Hannah and Michelle insisted on yet another “girls’ night” out. I only reluctantly agreed. Mainly because they begged. 

So, I squeezed myself into a pair of too tight jeans and a red tanktop. Scrunched up my hair a bit and applied a bit more makeup than usual. 

The kitchen and living room was quiet and deserted when I came wobbling downstairs into my too high heels. Mother was working late again. 

That suited me fine. Had she been in, she would only try and prevent me from going out. And I was in no mood for yet another discussion with her. 

I went into the bathroom to check my appearance one last time and applied a bit more lipstick. Then my phone chimed, and I quickly checked the text and smiled. It was from Allen. He wished me and the   
girls a good night. He was so sweet and attentive. Had even offered to drive me to the bar, but I actually preferred to walk. High heels or not. 

I grabbed my black leather jacket from the rack and slipped out of the house before mother could come home and demand an explanation. 

 

A wobbly walk later found me on “Oliver’s Twist”, a half-fancy bar both Michelle, Hannah and myself frequently visited. It had been a while since my last visit, though. Going out was expensive, and I hadn’t exactly been swimming in money until now, after I had started working at the cinema. It paid off pretty well. Maybe I would offer to buy tonight. 

I checked my phone and rolled my eyes. Late as usual. Seriously, why was it that Hannah and Michelle always were late? 

Maybe I should just order, I mused to myself as I sat down on one of the barstools by the counter. Yeah, that was what I was gonna do. Order a drink and wait for my friends. Again. 

The bartender came over to me, and I tried to appear confident and definitely not seventeen when I said: “Cosmopolitan. Please.” 

“One Cosmopolitan coming right up,” he said. No questions. No “ID please, miss.” Either I was getting really good at lying, or maybe he was just a little dense. 

I kept an eye on my phone to check for messages from the girls or my mother when the bartender came back with my drink. 

I took a sip of it. It was actually pretty good. Much better than that Strawberry Daiquiri. I drummed my fingers against my legs and wiggled my feet slightly. My shoes weren’t exactly comfortable. I should   
have gone with sneakers instead. 

Oh, well. At least I wouldn’t be dancing tonight. I refused. My feet simply wouldn’t be able to do that. I would end up breaking a leg. Again. 

I took another sip and had barely swallowed the liquid before the door was opened and Hannah and Michelle greeted me with hugs and squeals into my ear. Despite the fact we had seen each other at   
school. 

“Ugh, finally,” Michelle said as she plopped down on the barstool next to me. 

“Thought we would never make it here,” Hannah added and snatched my drink to take a sip. “Ohh, I like this. What are we drinking?” 

“Cosmopolitan.”

“How sophisticated,” Michelle teased lightly. “Is your mom finally starting to rub off on you?” 

“Never.” I assured. “Not in a million years.” 

Hannah laughed. “Pina Colada,” she said to the bartender. “Michelle?” 

“Sex on the beach,” Michelle said and flashed the bartender a certain look. 

“And she’s at it again,” I commented and shared a knowing look with Hannah. Michelle loved guys. She loved flirting, and she was damn good at it too. 

I glanced at the bartender over my drink. No doubt he was good looking, but still, I felt like some sort of warning would be in order. 

“Michelle, he’s 25.” I told her. 

“Pff,” she dismissed. “No, he’s not.” 

“27,” Hannah chirped in. 

“At least.” I deadpanned. 

“Spoilsports,” Michelle said but never the less flashed the bartender a warm smile when he returned with her and Hannah’s drink.

“Cheers!” Hannah said briskly and raised her glass. 

“Cheers!” Michelle and I parroted.

We sipped our drinks and Michelle immediately started questioning me about Allen. 

“Yes, he’s still the eight wonder of the world,” I confirmed and smiled. “And he’s so sweet.” 

“Sweet?” Michelle echoed and raised an eyebrow. 

“Mmm,” I said and took another sip of my drink. “And he makes me feel so safe all the time.” 

“That’s great,” Hannah smiled.

But Michelle seemed skeptic when she said: “Do you love him?” 

“Yeah, of course I do,” I said and gulped down more of my drink. “He’s everything I could ever ask for in a guy.” 

“Right. Sweet and safe is great,” Michelle continued. “But not very passionate…” 

“Michelle…” I groaned. “We’re only seventeen years old. It’s not like that. We’re not busy.” 

“Are you kidding me?” Michelle said and smirked. “He’s cute. I would have jumped like that.” She snapped her fingers. 

“Ha, ha, ha.” I said. ”I’m totally telling him you said that. I’m sure he’ll find it funny.” 

Hannah sniggered. 

We clinked our glasses together again and continued our friendly bantering until Hannah suddenly hopped off the barstool and said: “Excuse me, ladies but I have to go and powder my nose.” 

“You sound like my mother,” I said flatly. 

She cringed, and I didn’t blame her. “Would it be better if I told you that my mascara is fucked up and need imminent correction?” 

“Yes, that would definitely be better.” 

She chuckled as she pushed her way through the filled bar and headed towards the ladies’ room. 

Meanwhile, Michelle had pushed her chair closer to the counter and was now leaning in, chatting briskly with the bartender. 

Since when did she become such an expert in drinks? I wondered. She was improvising, she was most definitely improvising. 

I choked back a grin. For a moment, I considered to call her out on it. Simply to see the look on her face, and potentially tell Allen about it afterwards. 

Then again, what sort of friend would that make me? The funny one or the “spoilsport” one? 

I shook my head and took another sip of my drink. For fucks sake, Michelle. He’s twenty-five. You can’t be serious right now. 

But the way she leaned over the counter and laughed at something he had said told me that she was very serious. 

I was still debating whether to stop Michelle’s “bartender-plan” or not, when fate stopped it for me. A gentleman came up to the counter. He was clearly waiting for his drinks, but what really struck me   
was that he was wearing a suit. A suit. A goddamn suit. In a bar. How many people does that? 

Maybe he was something. Maybe he was important. I glanced at him again. Tall, dark hair, possibly in his mid-thirties. Impeccably dressed. Maybe he really was someone special. 

The bartender handed him two drinks, and as Michelle tried to reclaim the bartender’s attention, I followed the guys walk back to a nearby table. I clearly heard him through the music as he said: “One   
Moscow Mule for me. And one Dry Martini for the lady.” 

“Thank you.” 

Crick. That’s the exact sound my neck made when I turned my head. I identified the voice even before I saw her, and man, was I confused. 

Because why was Greta still in Seattle? Wasn’t she long gone to whatever fancy place she was living at?

I wriggled my upper body into a somewhat more normal position as I looked at her. She was wearing a black dress. And there wasn’t a whole lot of it. It ended a good inch above her knee. I watched as   
she reached a hand out for the drink and took a small sip. Then she smiled at the man sitting across her. 

I felt two things. And both of them were completely irrational. The first thing was relief. For some inexplicable reason, I was thrilled to see her again. I had thought that she was leaving Seattle for good   
when I saw her walk out of the hotel. 

And the other thing was annoyance. That made even less sense than the first thing. I was annoyed at seeing her sit and chat and smile at that guy. 

And then there was the drinking. Greta had told me she didn’t drink, and yet here she was, sipping Dry Martini like she had done it all her life. 

But that guy… He really annoyed me. And I had absolutely no reason to feel annoyed. Or any excuse for that matter. 

Wait a second... That’s not the same guy she was with at the hotel, is it? I quickly took a double take, but there was little doubt in my mind. Nope, that was definitely a different guy. Huh. Well, I couldn’t   
blame her for giving the other guy the boot. Apart from the concert, he had seemed pretty disinterested in her. 

I kept my gaze fixated on the couple as I took another sip of my drink. Look up, I silently begged Greta. Look up and see me. I’m right here, and for some reason I’m dying to talk to you again. 

But Greta didn’t look up. Not this time. 

A rather sharp poke to my side brought me out of my confused state of mind and I snapped my head up. 

Hannah sniggered at me. “Stop ogling suit-guy, Cellie. He’s old. And you have a boyfriend.” 

“I wasn’t ogling him,” I protested. 

Both Hannah and Michelle shot me a look. 

“I wasn’t!” I insisted. And that was true. I really wasn’t ogling him. 

“Yeah, right. How much did you have before we got here?” Michelle teased. 

“I was not staring at suit guy, okay?” I huffed. “And besides, you’re a fine one to talk, miss-I’m-trying-to-hit-on-the-bartender.” 

The bartender looked up and he was even grinning a little. 

“Celine!” Michelle hissed. “That was so uncalled for!” 

“Just looking out for you,” I sniggered. “He’s too old for you.” 

“Shut up.” 

We continued to squabble and tease each other, but I found that my attention was divided between my friends and Greta with the mysterious man in the corner. More than once, I stole a glance at them,   
and every time I saw Greta lean forward like Michelle had done it a second ago with the bartender. Except Greta did it with more sophistication. Discreetly. But still, it looked like she was very interested in   
the guy. It felt like someone had pulled a plug out of the pit of my stomach when I saw her throw her head back and laugh at something the guy had said. 

They were definitely together. And way more serious than she and the other guy had been. They looked great together. Like Greta, he looked ridiculously sophisticated in his suit. He gotta be her type, right? 

I cocked my head and tried to analyze their body language. Body language could say a lot when it came to relation between two people, my mother and I were living proofs of that. 

“Celine?” 

“Yeah?” I quickly snapped out of it. 

Michelle chuckled. “If you don’t buy suit guy a drink, I will.” 

“Don’t you dare.” 

“Does Allen know you’re into older men?” Hannah teased lightly. 

“You’re an idiot,” I said flatly, but I couldn’t quite keep the amusement out of my voice. 

“Drink up, ladies,” Michelle said dramatically. “Drink up and let’s get out of here.” 

“Lost interest in the bartender already, have you?” I teased and downed the rest of my drink. 

“Nope.” Michelle said, popping the “p”. “But I think he lost interest in me.” 

Hannah and I stole a glance at the bartender who was currently talking to a guy with ash blonde hair and dressed in black jeans and a black t-shirt that showed off his rather impressive muscles. 

“Or maybe he’s never been interested in you at all?” I suggested. To me, it was pretty obvious which way the bartender was going. 

“Unlucky again,” Michelle said and sighed again. 

“Aww, your poor ego,” Hannah teased. 

“Do you want me to throw the rest of this over expensive drink in your face?” Michelle inquired, completely nonchalantly, like she was offering Hannah an ice cream. 

“I’m pretty sure you would regret that…” 

I zoned out for a moment when I saw Greta and the mysterious man get up and leave the table. I kept my eyes firmly locked on them as they walked through the bar, but as they reached the door, Greta suddenly stopped and said: “I forgot my purse.” 

The guy offered to go back to their table and grab it for her, but Greta insisted that he didn’t need to. Then she walked back and snatched her purse which she had left sitting on a chair. 

She looked like she was about to turn around again, but then I saw her pause for a moment with her hand on the back of the chair. It almost looked like she was out of breath or something like that. 

I couldn’t blame her. The air inside the bar was horrible. Someone should ask them to crack a window open. 

Greta turned around again, and I saw how her ice blue eyes scanned every corner of the bar. 

Did she know I was there? It was possible. I hoped she did. Well, if she would move her look a quarter inch to the left she would know…. Come on, look at me. All I’m asking. Just one smile. 

But Greta didn’t. And I never found out whether she actually knew I was there or not. The guy said something inaudible to her. Greta smiled and walked back to him with her purse dangling from one arm. 

I shrugged my leather jacket back on as I watched them leave the bar. A part of me wanted to tell Michelle and Hannah to hurry up. I wanted to get out on the street as fast as possible. I wanted to see   
where Greta and Mr. Mysterious Guy were going. 

But I didn’t. 

Instead I offered to pay for the drinks as I had intended to.


	11. Chapter Eleven

The job I’d landed at the cinema proved to be paying off quite nicely. Apart from a few drinks here and there I had saved my money right from the beginning, and that proved to be a very good idea when Allen and I suddenly could celebrate our four months anniversary in April. I wanted to do something special for the occasion, to celebrate us. To show Allen how grateful I was for him. Four months anniversary might seem silly to make such a big deal out of, but to me, it was a big deal.

So, I had gone online and after a good while of browsing, I had decided that theater tickets were the perfect gift. 

I had tried to stay focused in my search, but after almost two hours of browsing around, I had become so befuddled and fed up with the whole thing I just ordered tickets to some random show. And I had regretted it the moment the order confirmation landed in my inbox, but I had tried my best to just go with it. Sometimes it was good to try new things. At least that was what I had repeated when Allen questioned my choice, I had firmly explained that it was “healthy to try new stuff once in a while. it didn’t harm to do something else than just hanging out on his couch and watching old movies or have coffee at our local coffee pusher. No, two months was special. I wanted it to be special. I wanted to be the kind of girlfriend who surprised her boyfriend with theater tickets once in a while.   
And Allen, bless him had actually been happy and claimed that he was looking forward to a night of new things.

So, the following Saturday night I did the unthinkable. 

I put on a dress. 

Voluntarily. 

And a new dress, that was. A light blue thing with spaghetti straps. I’d had some doubts about it. It ended a solid inch above my knee, but I decided to go with it anyway. The dress was pretty, and- my stomach curled. New things. The theater and the “exotic” show wasn’t the only new thing I had in mind for tonight. Two months were special. I don’t know why or when it had happened, perhaps it had come gradually, but I was ready for the next step.

I hadn’t told Hannah or Michelle about my plans. They would blow it out of proportions. And I didn’t want that. 

It was no big deal really. Just sex. It was something that was going to happen between Allen and I anyway, so why wait? He was a wonderful guy. The sweetest guy I would ever meet. My Allen. I knew he loved me too. I knew he would be sweet and gentle throughout the whole ordeal. 

I gave my hair a final brush and looked at myself in the mirror. The barbie version of me stared back. But tonight, the barbie look had been my own choice, so I didn’t mind it. My long blonde hair was styled in waves, my lips painted pink and my eyelashes were long and curved upwards thanks to endless layers of mascara. 

I squinted slightly as I took in my appearance. My brown eyes looked back at me. I supposed I looked good tonight. Apart from the eyes. I had never liked my eyes. They were too big, too wide. Like a deer, as my mother once had commented and then complained I hadn’t inherited her dark blue eyes. 

I was relieved I hadn’t inherited her eyes, but I wasn’t satisfied with my own pair either. They made me look innocent. Childlike. Maybe even a bit naïve. 

I hollowed my cheeks, held my breath for a moment and then puffed out the air. Straightened my back. I was supposed to be on my wait out of the door. Not find flaws. 

No, tonight wasn’t about flaws. It was about me and Allen. About celebrating our two months together. My stomach fluttered a little at the thought of later tonight. after we got back to his place after the show. 

I was a little nervous, but I wasn’t scared. I trusted Allen with every fiber of my being, and I knew he would never do anything to hurt me. He always made me feel safe no matter what. 

I checked my phone. It was time to go. I grabbed my worn out leather jacket. Jeans or dolled up, I would wear that jacket anyway, and then I headed for the door. My mother was working late at the hospital again, so I didn’t have to let her in on my plans. She probably didn’t care anyway. 

It was raining a bit and there was a slight chill in the air. I was grateful I was taking the bus. Honestly, I couldn’t walk much in these shoes, and driving was out of the question. 

But the bus… The bus was safe. Secure. Plus, it stopped right in front of the theater. Win-win. 

I checked my phone as the bus rounded another corner. 7:15. There was still almost an hour until the show started, and with my ticket already secure in my purse, I didn’t have to be there an hour before   
show start. 

Three stops later, I got off the bus and half ran to avoid getting drenched. Obviously, I had forgotten an umbrella. Maybe I would manage to forget myself someday. 

But fortunately enough, there was an area just outside the theater where I could hang out without getting drenched. The perfect place to wait for Allen. 

I didn’t worry for the first ten minutes. Allen was probably just running a little late. I spent the time snapchatting with Hannah and Michelle. 

But once fifteen minutes had passed, I started growing a little restless as I checked my phone again and again. 

Twenty minutes later, I was getting really worried and I was just about to call him when my phone started vibrating. Allen beat me to it. 

“Hey, where are you?” I asked as I picked up. “The show is just about to start.” 

“I’m stuck in this major queue on the main road,” Allen sighed. 

“You’re kidding me, right?” I said disbelieving and removed the phone from my ear for five seconds to check the time again. “The show is starting in fifteen minutes!” 

“I know, I know,” Allen said, and I could hear the annoyance seep through every word. “I’ll try to make it, but…” 

He didn’t have to finish the sentence. I knew he would never make it on time. And once the show had started, the doors would close, and you couldn’t get in. 

“Damn,” I said and tried to quell my disappointment. 

“Yeah, I know. I should have taken the bus like you said, but I wanted to be a gentleman and drive you home afterwards.” Allen said and laughed half-heartedly. 

I laughed too despite the feeling of disappointment gnawing in my stomach. 

“But hey, you have your ticket,” Allen said. “And you’ve already paid. Why don’t you go in and watch the show?” 

“No way,” I said firmly. “I wanted to watch it with you. Not on my own.” 

“Can’t you call Michelle or Hannah and ask them…?” 

“Michelle’s out of town with her parents. And Hannah is working on a school project.” The same project I should be working on. 

“Shit,” Allen cursed. “I’m so sorry babe.”

“It’s alright,” I said. “I’ll just try and catch the next bus home.”

“Okay. I’m really sorry, Celine.” 

“It’s not your fault,” I assured and felt patient like never before despite being very disappointed. This was not how I had planned on spending our two months anniversary. 

I heard someone honk in the phone and then Allen cursed again. This time louder. 

“What’s happening?” I asked. The honking made my heart speed up, even though I was nowhere near the main road.

“Just the guy behind me being a jerk,” Allen said strained. “Apparently, he doesn’t know what being stuck in a queue means. Look, I’ll call you later, okay?” 

“Okay. Love you.” 

“Love you too.” 

We hung up, and even though this definitely wasn’t Allen’s fault, I felt stood up. Tonight was supposed to be about me and Allen. We were supposed to have a good time together, and here I was, alone in front of the theater. So much for my big night. but the smallest part of me also felt a tiny bit relived over postponing my plans for later tonight. It just wasn’t supposed to happen tonight. But that was   
okay. Now I had more time to think things through and make sure I was protected and stuff like that.

I checked my phone. There was a good thirty minutes until the next bus came, and I wasn’t very keen on hanging out here until then. 

Plan B then. And in this case, plan B was walking down the street. I was sure I had spotted a coffee place earlier when I was on the bus. 

But something told me that the coffee place might be further away than I first had assumed. I walked and walked and passed several buildings on the way, but I couldn’t find the coffee place. 

A low rumbling made me stop in my tracks for a second. Great. Just great. A failed date was one thing, but thunder was another. This is definitely not my night, I noted as the rain suddenly intensified. 

Man, I should have stayed by the theater and waited instead. Or gone inside. I didn’t want to see the show without Allen, but I could at least have gone inside and waited for the bus. Stupid me. Always making the wrong decisions. 

It was literally pouring down and my carefully styled wavy hair turned completely flat. My makeup quickly went south, and my pretty dress got drenched. 

Fucking perfect. I felt tempted to take my shoes up and make a run for it, but these tiles would probably not be too kind to my stocking clad feet. My night had definitely taken a turn for the worse. I should have listened to Allen and said yes to watching a movie at his place. To think I could have been sitting on his couch, eating nachos right now instead of running around on the dark streets. And   
poor Allen, stuck in a major queue in this weather. 

And not to mention those damn non-refundable tickets. I’d have to take double shifts in the cinema. My mother would ask questions and give me a lecture about “taking better care of my money”, and then another lecture about how I would end up in poverty if I wasn’t careful. 

Yeah, I was having a very crappy night. 

The rain nearly blinded me, and the tiles were slippery wet. It was a mere chance I didn’t fall on my ass. That could easily have happened with the tempo I was keeping up right now. I sprinted down the street, now damn near desperate to find shelter. 

And at last, my breathless sprint down the street paid off. I could have cried when I saw the lights from the café. 

I was well aware that I looked like shit when I pushed the door open and went inside. But I couldn’t afford to care. The only thing that mattered was finding shelter from this awful weather. 

The waitress shot me a look of pity when she spotted me. “Coffee?” 

“That would have been great,” I said. “But I’m broke.” And I probably will be for a while. Those tickets were fucking expensive. The only money I had left were for the bus ride home. 

I found a table near the heater and sat down rubbing my arms in an attempt to get the blood flowing. Goosebumps were dotted all over my skin and I pushed my chair ever so slightly closer to the   
radiator. Maybe I should just stay here all night instead of going home. 

It was a shame about the coffee, though. I wouldn’t have minded a cup. It would have been a very fast way to warm me up. 

I grabbed on to the edges on my leather jacket and tried to wrap it tighter around me, but honestly, it didn’t provide me with much warmth. 

Jesus, what a crappy evening. Blaming Jesus was probably pushing it, but I was on the brink of despairing over the turn my evening had taken. It was supposed to be a nice evening for me and Allen, and instead I was sitting alone in some coffee shop, soaked and cold and shivering. I had quite a few swear words that would have fitted this situation nicely. 

I wiggled my feet under the table. And my feet were now hurting insanely because I had been running in high heels.

I was debating whether I could slip the shoes off under the table when my phone vibrated. I almost snorted when I read the text from Michelle. She was asking if me and Allen were having a good time. 

I didn’t text her back. A good time. Yeah, right. I’m having the time of my life over here. Really, I’m living my best life running around in the rain. Had this been a musical, I would be belting out Singing in   
the fucking Rain by now. 

So much for anniversaries. Water was dripping down my forehead and down my nose. Very attractive. And I was pretty sure the water was seeping through my leather jacket and dress. It was definitely clinging to my back in a very uncomfortable fashion. 

Suddenly, the waitress came over to my table. She shot me another look of pity as she placed a cup of coffee in front of me. 

“I didn’t order this,” I said, and my teeth actually chattered a bit in my mouth.

“I know. She did,” the waitress replied and made a half discreet pointing gesture with her finger. 

I followed the pointing finger and my gaze fell on a booth in the corner. And especially on the woman sitting in the booth. 

How many times could I be surprised over seeing Greta? How many times could I be surprised over her ability to pop up everywhere? And how many times could I wonder what she did in Seattle when she clearly belonged in Paris? 

She was nonchalantly sitting on the massive wooden bench. She was dressed in black from head to toe. A black pantsuit, black boots and a black pillbox hat on her flawlessly curled hair. She did definitely not look like she had just come in from the rain like me. And to fulfill this image of ridiculous perfection, she was completely engaged with reading a book while she sipped her hot beverage.

I felt tempted to snort again. Seriously, could she get anymore French? The only thing she needs is one of those long cigarettes to fulfill her French…ness. 

I looked down at the cup of coffee in front of me. She had bought me a cup of coffee. She didn’t have to, but she had bought me a cup of coffee. I should thank her properly. 

So, I grabbed the cup of coffee and left my spot next to the heater. I quietly cleared my throat when I reached the booth, and Greta looked up. 

“Can I sit here?” I asked. 

“Of course.” She nodded. 

I sat down and took a sip of the coffee. “Thanks for the coffee,” I grinned. 

She smirked a little. “That’s quite alright. No offense, but you looked a little…Miserable.” 

“I was,” I nodded. “You saved my life.” 

Greta chuckled lightly. “Whatever made you go outside in this dreadful weather?” 

“I was supposed to be in the theater, but the plans got changed last minute,” I said. 

“Oh.” She put her book down and I caught a glimpse of the cover: “The Great Gatsby”. 

I bit back another chuckle. Of course she was reading “The Great Gatsby” in a darkened café while the rain was pouring down outside. Of course, she was. 

“Is something amusing you, Miss Welles?” 

I quickly shook my head. “No, we just seem to run into each other all the time.” 

“Well, Seattle is not that big,” Greta said and took a sip of whatever was in her cup. 

“So you live here? In Seattle, I mean?” 

“Yes, I do.” Greta nodded. 

That surprised me a little. Firstly, because she definitely didn’t belong in Seattle. She was definitely a lost Parisian. And secondly, because I had never run into her before our random meetings started. 

“I moved here last year,” Greta continued, and she raised a manicured hand to push a stray curl behind her ear. 

“Oh. Because of work?” I guessed. 

“Yes, one could say that,” Greta replied and chuckled a little. 

I looked at her again. Her ice blue gaze was resting on her hands, and it occurred to me that Greta herself looked a little miserable tonight. 

“You know, you look like you have an even worse night than me,” I pointed out. 

Perfectly sculped eyebrows rose. “Is that so? Let’s compare then. Tell me about your horrible night and I shall tell you about mine.” 

I hadn’t exactly expected that, but never the less I took another gulp of my coffee and told her all about my failed date with Allen and then getting caught in the rain. 

Greta actually looked a bit impressed when I finished my story. “I see. That is pretty bad.” 

“You don’t say,” I muttered and then challenged: “Your turn.”

Greta chuckled a little and leaned forward as she quietly confided: “It’s my birthday.” 

“Oh.” I was taken aback by that. 14th of April. For some reason, I would have assumed she was born in the winter. I didn’t quite know why. “Congratulations. Why is that a bad thing?” 

“My birthday and I don’t go well together.” Greta said plainly. 

That sounded a bit depressive, and now I was growing a bit concerned: “Are you sure you should spend it alone then? Wouldn’t it be better to spend it with your friends and family?” seriously, why is she   
alone? Why isn’t she spending her birthday with that guy I saw her with? Or the other one?

“I don’t have much family,” Greta replied. 

Argh, shit. Way to may things worse. 

“And friends…” Greta raised an eyebrow. “I don’t socialize much outside of work.” 

“Okay.” But what about that guy she had been with a few weeks ago? The guy in the bar? 

“But I’m not spending my birthday alone,” Greta continued and flashed me a little smile. “At least not anymore.” 

I returned the smile. 

Greta took another sip of her beverage. I leaned forward slightly. Tea. impressive. Why on earth chose tea when she could have coffee? 

“Lowers the heart rate,” Greta said with another smile and answered my silent question. 

“You don’t like coffee?” 

“It keeps me awake at night.” 

“Right.” I took another sip of my coffee. “Didn’t I see you a while ago? 

“Did you?” she raised an eyebrow again. 

“Yeah, I’m positive I did. On Oliver’s Twist. Unless you have a doppelganger, that is,” I laughed. “I don’t think you saw me, though.” 

“Hmm. I might have been there,” Greta nodded. “But if that’s the case, why didn’t you come over and say hello?” 

I shrugged lightly. “I was with my friends. And I didn’t want to bother you. Your boyfriend was there.” 

“Boyfriend?” Greta repeated and seemed mystified first, but then she chuckled, and her tone seeped with amusement when she said: “I don’t have a boyfriend, miss Welles.” 

“Oh.” Maybe my tightknit relationship with Allen had blinded me slightly. “I’m sorry, I just assumed…” 

“Assuming can be dangerous,” Greta quietly interrupted me and looked at me with her ice blue eyes. 

“Right, I…” I trailed off completely. Damn, how does she avoid getting stopped in the street? I mean, those eyes… 

It was silly, but the way she looked at me turned my stomach to soup, and I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. 

And if it hadn’t for the passing bus outside I would probably have made a right fool out myself. Instead I jumped up from my seat and exclaimed: “Oh, shit. That was my bus. Damnit.” 

What the hell was I supposed to do now? I would be an hour before the next bus arrived, and my mother would be home by then. And she would most definitely ask questions about my drenched   
appearance. 

“Where do you live?” Greta asked calmly. 

“Queen Anne.” I said bitterly. It was quite the journey from here. Of course, I could walk, but that would take as long as waiting for the bus. 

“I’ll take you home.” Greta said plainly. “If you don’t mind driving with me, that is.” 

“Seriously? That would save my life,” I said gratefully. “Thank you so much.” 

“No need to thank me,” she answered and brushed my gratitude aside. “It’s not very far from my home.” 

She rose from her seat and headed out of the door without another word. I followed her like some sort of golden retriever. 

Greta’s car turned out to be an old Mercedes Benz, and I smiled as I ticked that off my metaphorical list. Sophisticated car, check. 

And obviously, the car smelled of leather. Of course, it did. I was beginning to realize that Greta was quite well off when it came to money. I wonder what she does for a living? 

And I was also realizing that I had just gotten into a car with someone I barely knew. A car. A moving vehicle. The stuff I normally avoided. I felt my stomach clench unpleasantly, and my heart started to   
thrum behind my ribs. Calm down, calm down, I told myself. Greta had already witnessed one panic attack. I was not about to let her witness another. 

“Is everything alright?” Greta asked as she got behind the wheel and started the engine. 

“Yeah,” I lied. “Everything is fine.” 

I wasn’t sure she actually bought the lie, but she didn’t comment on it. Instead she focused on turning the car around and back to the main road. 

And I had to admit that she was a very sensible driver. She didn’t speed like my mother or Michelle liked to do. No, she stayed below the speed limit. This was almost a pleasant drive, the slow pace, the comfortable leather seats and the quiet jazz music on the radio. 

Maybe I can get used to driving again, I mused. At least as a passenger. There was no way I was getting behind the wheel. Not yet. I was definitely not ready for that yet. 

Will I ever be? 

I didn’t bother answering that question. Mother was pressing the issue, but I knew I had to give it time. It had only been seven months. I was still recovering mentally. 

Greta said very little as we drove through Seattle. Instead she hummed along to the jazz tune on the radio. I smiled. She had a nice voice. I actually felt comfortable with her behind the wheel. Can I possible hire her to be my new driving teacher? I have a feeling she would be damn good at it. 

The car journey back to my house was supposed to be long. But for some reason, it felt ridiculously short, and suddenly we rounded a corner and drove down the road that led to my house. 

“This is me,” I announced, and the Mercedes came to a halt in front of my house. 

“You have a beautiful home,” Greta said. 

I scoffed slightly. “Yeah, I guess it looks pretty from outside.” 

Greta shot me a look. “Isn’t that the case with most things?” 

I laughed dryly. She had a point there. 

She suddenly leaned across me, and my stomach did these odd flip flops at the sudden contact. But within seconds she opened the car door for me and leaned back again. 

Oh, okay. I guess that’s my cue to leave then. 

“Thank you for the ride,” I said and cursed how timid I sounded. 

“As I said, I was going this way anyway.” 

“Where do you live?” I asked curiously as I shrugged my leather jacket back on. 

“Near Lake Union.” 

“Oh.” She was right. That was very close to where I lived. 

“Well,” I said as I got out of her car. “I guess I’ll see you around.” 

“Given how often we run into each other, I think you might be right,” she answered and smirked a little. “Have a good evening.” 

“You too.” 

I remained standing outside in the pouring rain and watched as she drove away. Soon, the car disappeared completely in the rain, and I turned around and fumbled with my key. 

It was only when I came inside the empty house it occurred to me to check my phone. And there were several texts from Allen, asking if I got home alright. 

I gaped a little. This was our four months anniversary. How did I manage to just magically forget about him for the entire evening?


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features a sex scene, loss of virginity, or whatever you prefer to call it.

I hadn’t expected this overly romantic rose red experience. I wasn’t that naïve. 

I knew it was most likely going to be a bit awkward. A little bit fumbling as we tried to get the hang of things.

I hadn’t expected to feel much either to be brutally honest. I knew that it wasn’t gonna be this explosive firework-y experience, either. 

It was safe to say that I had “done my homework” so to speak. At least when it came to contraception. I wasn’t interested in copying my mothers mistake. 

Neither was Allen. He was well prepared with condoms.   
It had happened one late afternoon, a few weeks after our failed anniversary celebration. Definitely not out of the blue, but it wasn’t like we had discussed it intensely before starting. I was fairly certain we both had given it some thought in the past months. 

One moment we were kissing each other intensely, and the next Allen’s hands were wandering towards my front. 

It wasn’t like his hands had never ended up there before. But either I had laughed and pushed him away, or he had stopped himself. 

But today, I wasn’t intending to stop him. And when I didn’t, he stopped for a moment and looked at me: “Celine?” 

“It’s alright,” I assured. “Just… keep going.” 

So he did, and my shirt quickly ended up unbuttoned. I swiftly slid it off my body. 

From there, things sort of escalated. Jeans were unzipped and ended up on his bedroom floor. There was some fumbling as he struggled to undo my bra, and we both laughed a little when I ended up pushing his hands away and unhooking my bra myself. My bra and panties quickly landed on the floor next to our other clothes. There was a moment of awkwardness. A moment of flushing when we saw each other naked for the first time, but then I leaned in and kissed him, and the awkward moment passed. We ended up lying on his bed, and Allen was so sweet. Kept asking if I were alright. If I was sure. 

And I was. This was what I wanted. Allen. I had considered taking our relationship to the next level for quite a while now, and I felt like I was ready. I felt so strongly for Allen. Stronger than I had felt for anyone before. He wasn’t just some guy. He was special. And I wasn’t just some hormonal seventeen year old. This wasn’t a spontaneous idea. I had thought things through for a while. And I trusted Allen a hundredth percent. 

And he was sweet and gentle with me as he positioned himself on top of me. I locked my fingers in his dirty blonde hair and kissed him fiercely. He responded to the kiss and then his mouth travelled lower to my neck, my shoulder, lower still. I felt a slight tingle in my abdomen as his mouth brushed over my breast. A whisper of warmth sizzled down my spine and left a wetness between my legs in its wake. 

But as he switched side, the tingles fizzled out and became a knotted lump in my stomach instead. No matter how “well prepared” I was for this, I was still nervous. It was completely natural. 

I didn’t say anything to Allen. Instead I closed my eyes and concentrated on the way he was touching me. The way his fingers explored their way down my body. The tingles awakened again.

He continued to be sweet and patient. I was the impatient one as I muttered something about being ready. 

There was some wriggling around. Some condom difficulties that took some time. A bit more fumbling. But I assured Allen that it was fine.

Allen finally slipped the condom on and looked at me again. 

I nodded and smiled up at him. I answered his silent question with an equally silent “yes”. 

And I meant it. My Allen. My sweet, patient, wonderful boyfriend. I couldn’t have wished for a more caring guy than him. 

Soon he was on top of me again, positioned himself. I hooked my arms under his shoulders. He felt warm against me. Sweaty. Even though he hadn’t said anything, I suspected that he was just as nervous   
as I was, and for some reason that only heightened my affection for him. We were gonna be each other’s firsts. 

I swallowed something as he pushed inside me. It didn’t exactly hurt. It just felt… Weird. 

“Are you okay?” Allen asked strangled. His voice was scratchier than I had ever heard it before.

“Yeah.” 

“Does it hurt?” 

“No, it just feels like… Pressure, I guess.” 

“Do you want me to stop?” 

“No, just.... Give me a second.” I wiggled slightly underneath him. Tried to adjust. After a moment, I asked him to continue.

Allen made another strangled sound, and then he slowly and gently began moving inside me. 

Admittedly, it wasn’t exactly pleasurable when he started moving within me, but it wasn’t agonizing either. I tried my best to “contribute” and time my hips’ movement with his. Once or twice, I felt him move against a spot that made my breath hitch a little extra in my throat, but the moment was so fleeting. I never got the chance to fully explore the feeling. It was going too fast. Everything was still too unfamiliar. 

I was still adjusting to him when I noticed that the tingles I’d felt earlier when his hands had been on my body, had disappeared again. Maybe I had been more nervous about this than I thought. 

His movements became faster, his thrusts sharper, and he interlaced our fingers as he let out this strangled groan. 

And just like that, my first time was over. Done. Allen buried his face in the crook of my neck, now softening rapidly within me. I rubbed my palm up and down his back, traced my fingers along his spine. 

I could feel how he went completely soft inside me. 

After maybe thirty seconds or so, Allen lifted his head, smiled down at me and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead as he gently slipped out of me. 

I immediately returned the smile. 

Allen rolled off me and lied panting next to me on the mattress. Then he asked hoarsely: “Was that… Okay?” 

“Yeah,” I smiled. 

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No, no. I’m fine.” I assured. 

“Good, good.” He let out a sharp breath, I heard the sound of rubber as he pulled the condom off and then he closed his eyes for a moment. 

And physically, I was fine. There had been pain, but not much. I would live through it. But I felt frustrated, and admittedly, a little… Disappointed. 

Which obviously made me feel awful. I knew that firsts times aren’t magically or euphoric. I had made my peace with not being in for this rose red, deeply romantic experience, but still, I had expected to feel something. Not “lighting up like a torch pleasure”, but just something. 

It’ll get better. We just need to practice. Try out different things or whatever. 

The experience didn’t turn Allen nor me into sex addicts, but we did try it again a few times. And we tried getting a bit more “creative”. Tried different things. 

I wasn’t for a moment in doubt that Allen enjoyed it. The problem was me. 

Sex was not what I had expected it to be, well it kind of was, but the odd thing was that I didn’t feel the same level of intimacy with Allen as I did when we were snuggled up on the couch and watching a movie together. Sex didn’t make me feel any closer to him. If anything it made me feel disconnected. 

But I didn’t tell him that. I didn’t tell him that I felt underwhelmed. I kept telling myself that it would get better. And I was terrified, that it would cause a rift between us. Give it time, I scolded myself. 

Practice makes perfect and all that. 

I was willing to wait until then. Until we got it just right. It had to happen at some point, right? At some point, our awkward teenage fumbling had to turn into something magical. 

We would get it right eventually. The question was when. 

I tried not to fret. Michelle had reassured me that it would get better. “Just give him some time”, she told me. “He’ll get the hang of it.” 

I tried my best to settle for that. But I had a nasty inkling that the problem was in fact me. Kissing him was great, feeling his hands on my body was great. My body responded to him like it was supposed   
to do, but there was just something whenever we had sex. I always had the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. Something was missing. 

The problem was me. Not Allen. But I kept telling myself that it would get better.

And “bedroom problems” aside, we still had loads of fun together. He still made me laugh, and I still enjoyed snuggling up to him on the couch when we were watching a movie. 

It was only at night when my insomnia was raging, I wondered what the hell was wrong with me. Why couldn’t I just be happy for once? Why did I have to create a problem? Why was I such a huge drama queen who couldn’t just settle? Seriously, Allen was great, he really was. Something close to the perfect guy. So why was it that I couldn’t enjoy myself completely? Why didn’t I burn when he touched me? 

I always ended up falling asleep before actually finding the answer. 

 

As we reached May, I tried to shove all my doubts aside. My “problem” was nothing. Literally. I would get over it. We were still young. We had plenty of time to “practice”. 

Allen smiled at me. “Did you like the ice cream?” 

“Oh yeah,” I assured him with a grin. “That was some killer ice cream.” 

Allen laughed. “We better never visit that place again.”

I chuckled. “No, probably not.” I could only imagine what too much of that ice cream would do to my stomach. And to Allen’s. 

Allen turned the radio up a little. I smiled as he sang along to a pop song on the radio. Today had been a good day. We had had dinner at a nearby restaurant, seen a movie at the cinema and then Allen   
had bought ice cream afterwards. 

I leaned back in the car seat. Allen’s old truck was actually lacking quite a bit when it came to car seats. They were bumpy and not particularly comfortable to sit on, but for some reason, I found it to be a part of the charm. You couldn’t expect a worn out truck from the eighties to have comfortable seats. 

I felt incredible brave for sitting here in this car. And quite proud too. Maybe I was actually mending now. Two months ago, I would not have been able to climb into this vehicle. Let alone been droved around in it. This felt like a huge step in the right direction. Especially because I actually hadn’t told Allen. Well, I had told him a little about the accident. Details and that I had been hospitalized for quite a while, but he didn’t know that I was still struggling with PTSD. I didn’t want to tell him that. Simply because I was embarrassed to admit that after soon to be eight months, I was still struggling with it. 

We rounded another corner and I almost swelled with pride when a car overtook us, and I didn’t panic. Well done, me. 

“There’s a bicycle coming,” I informed Allen. 

“Got it.” he adjusted his mirror to keep an eye on the cyclist behind us. 

I leaned back again and turned the radio up slightly as Maroon 5’s “She Will Be Loved” played. Maybe I even sang along. 

That was when it happened. Allen was still checking for cyclists in the mirror when a car suddenly came out of nowhere right in front of us. 

“ALLEN, WATCH OUT!” I yelled. 

Allen practically stood on the breaks to avoid colliding with the car. If it hadn’t been for my outburst, the car would definitely had hit us. The tires screeched, and Allen rightfully used the horn and honked at the idiot in front of us. 

The sound exploded in my ears, and suddenly I was no longer in the truck on this peaceful little road with Allen. I was back on Madison Street. Back in the rotating car that spun around, around, around… 

“Jesus Christ! Idiot! Did you see that guy?! He almost…” 

“Allen, let me out.” I whispered as my fingers curled around the edge of the seat. My voice was weak. Not loud enough for Allen to hear. 

“Seriously! Some people shouldn’t be allowed to have a driver’s license!” 

I felt the bile rise in my throat. Some people shouldn’t be allowed to have a driver’s license. I know that. I’m one of them. 

“Allen, let me out,” I said again. 

He didn’t hear me this time either. He just kept complaining over the idiot in the other car who “shouldn’t be allowed to drive if he couldn’t concentrate on the road”. He went on and on and on, and his   
voice began to sound slightly muddled. I couldn’t hear him probably. My vision was blurring. My heart was pounding in my chest. For a moment, I was certain I was either gonna pass out of be sick. I felt   
as if someone had tightened an iron band around my chest. Instead of the road traffic I could hear the wailing from the sirens and see the ambulance. 

“Allen, let me out right now!” Was I yelling? I didn’t know. My voice seemed muddled too. 

Allen looked at me. Shock was painted all over his face. Maybe I was in fact yelling. 

“Hey, calm down. It’s okay,” he said as he let go of the wheel with one hand to wrap an arm around me. 

But that didn’t calm me. How could he let go of the wheel?! Didn’t he know how dangerous that was?! 

“You have to pull over right now!” 

“Celine…” 

“Allen, just pull over! NOW!” I screamed. I didn’t care that we were in the middle of the road. I just had to get out of this car right now. 

Several cars honked as Allen abruptly steered the truck away from the road and pulled over. 

I didn’t know exactly where we were, and I didn’t care either. In one, swift movement I had unbuckled my seatbelt and opened the car door with trembling fingers. 

“Celine! Where are you going?” Allen called as I climbed out of the car. 

I didn’t answer him. I didn’t even look at him as I slammed the car door. I just had to get out of here. I had to get away from the road. 

My legs moved on their own accord and I started to run. 

“Celine, wait! Where are you going?” 

I could hear movements behind me, indicating that Allen had climbed out of the truck and was intending to pursuit me. 

But I couldn’t deal with him right now. The adrenaline was pumping through my veins and it turned me into a marathon runner. Suddenly, I was capable of outrunning him. Suddenly, I didn’t even have to   
look back to know that he wasn’t following me anymore. 

Run, run, run, don’t look back, just run, were the words that ran through my brain. I had to get away from the road. I had to get away from the cars. Run, run, run. Faster, Celine. Don’t look back. If you   
run long enough, everything will be alright. Just don’t stop. Just RUN. 

And oh, how I ran. I ran despite feeling the sweat cling to my back. I ran despite feeling my phone buzz in my pocket. I knew it was Allen calling me. But I also knew I wasn’t capable of answering my phone right now. I was still too close to the road. I could still hear the traffic. 

Run.

Run. 

Run. 

Don’t stop, Celine. Keep running. 

I lost track of time as I ran. My heart raced, and my legs felt heavy. And yet I kept running. 

I had to. My “fight or flight”-instinct had kicked in, and I found myself unable to stop running. 

I would probably have run straight into Union Lake or directly out on the road if it hadn’t been for my collision with someone. 

Blinded as I was by sheer panic I didn’t see where I was going until it was too late. I slammed directly into someone and found myself nearly knocked to the ground before of it. 

“I-I’m sorry,” I wheezed. My frantic run and now the collision had more or less knocked the air out of my lungs. 

“It’s alright. No harm done.” 

I knew it was her before I even looked up. “Greta?” 

“When I said we had a habit of running into each other I didn’t mean it quite so literally,” she said. 

I tried to laugh, but it came out as a strangled, pathetic little sound instead.

“What on earth has happened to you?” 

It was possible I looked exactly as horrible as I felt. 

I finally looked up at her. Despite the chilly March weather she was only wearing a blue dress with a slit zipper down the thigh and a black blazer. 

I remembered she was waiting for answer. “Nothing,” I lied. 

She obviously didn’t buy that, and she narrowed her ice blue eyes at me. “You look as if you have just been faced with Frankenstein’s monster.” 

Despite my state of mind, I almost laughed at that remark. “It’s nothing,” I tried again. 

“People rarely get upset over nothing.” Greta said plainly. 

I shrugged. “I don’t really wanna talk about it. Do you know where I am?” my frantic run and panicked state of mind had disorientated me completely. 

“Eastlake Avenue.” 

My eyes went wide. Eastlake Avenue?! Holy shit, how far did I run? And for how long? I suddenly realized that the sky was darkening rapidly. 

“Wow. Okay. I should probably be heading back then,” I said and laughed meekly. I had one hell of a walk ahead of me. 

“Now just a moment,” Greta interjected. “I really can’t let you head out on an hour long walk like this.” 

I raised an eyebrow. Like what, exactly? 

She pursed her burgundy painted lips. “You look like you’ve just ran through all of Seattle. You’re sweating. Your pulse is probably hammering away. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if you passed out in   
a second.” 

I laughed strangled. “Are you sure you’re not a doctor?” 

“Definitely not,” Greta answered and pursed her lips again. “I don’t know what you’re running from, miss Welles. But you look rattled, and I can’t let you go about your business in that state.” 

“I’ll sit down and take a breather before continuing.” 

She ignored that. “You live in Queen Anne. That’s a long way from here. And there aren’t that many busses at this hour.” 

I knew that. It wasn’t late-late, but never the less. Allen was supposed to take me home. But there was no power on earth that could force me into a car. Not now. I was still too frazzled. 

“I don’t live far from here. Why don’t you accompany me back to my place and have a cup of coffee? Then I can take you home afterwards, if you’d like.” 

I only needed ten seconds to consider that. “Yeah, I’d like that. Thanks.” 

“Good. I wouldn’t be comfortable with sending you away like this.” 

I chuckled as I followed her down the street. We were zeroing in on Lake Union, I realized as we crossed the street. 

“You live here?” I asked slightly surprised as we headed towards the east side of Lake Union. 

“Yes.” 

It didn’t take us long to reach the spot where all the houseboats lied “docked” and I was surprised when Greta headed straight towards the one in the middle. It wasn’t a huge, boxy, tasteless thing like our   
house was, but it definitely wasn’t small either. A two-story floating home.

“You have a houseboat,” I said dumbly as Greta walked on to the boat. 

“Yes, indeed,” she half laughed and extended her hand out towards me. “Climb aboard.” 

I took her hand and allowed her to help me aboard. I was very surprised. I hadn’t expected Greta to live on a houseboat. I had pictured her to live in this large, luxurious too-big for one house. 

But this… This was actually a pleasant surprise. A firm reminder that you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. 

“It’s a cottage on the water,” I said impressed and chuckled slightly. 

“And the only valuable thing my grandfather left me,” Greta added. “Come in.” 

I followed her inside the houseboat, and once again I was pleasantly surprised at what I saw. The living room screamed old school with old, heavy furniture’s. Wooden bookshelves. An enormous, red   
velvet couch. And books. Hundredth and hundredths of books. 

“You have your neighbors close to you,” I commented as I peered out of the window. 

“Yes, I suppose I do,” Greta shrugged. “But I hardly see them. I mostly keep to myself.” 

I chuckled a little. She lives on a house boat. Did anyone say, “Sleepless in Seattle?” 

“I like how you decorated in here,” I complimented. “It looks very good.” 

“Oh, I’m afraid that’s not my doing. That’s my grandfather’s work.” 

I peered up the wooden staircase. I was really curious to see what was upstairs, but I was too shy to ask to take a quick peek upstairs. 

“How do you like your coffee, Miss Welles?” 

“Oh, uhm…” I said, slightly befuddled. “Just black, please. One sugar.” 

“No milk?” 

“No thanks.” 

“Coming right up. Do sit down and make yourself at home.” 

I did as instructed and sat down on the massive velvet couch. Greta had a nice place here. Way better than the neatly polished place my mother referred to as her “property.” 

But- my gaze fell upon the withering plant pots in the window sill- it would appear that she wasn’t very good at taking care of her flowers. 

“I don’t spend a lot of time here,” Greta said and answered my unspoken question. 

Seriously? If I lived here, I would be home all the time, that’s for sure. 

A moment later, Greta joined me on the couch with a cup of coffee for me and a cup of tea for herself. 

“Thanks,” I said and sipped at it. 

“You’re welcome. So, miss Welles. What spurred this marathon run through Seattle?” 

“Celine.” I corrected to buy myself some time. 

“Pardon?” she said and took a sip of her tea. 

“You can call me Celine,” I muttered. Hearing her refer to me as “miss Welles” unnerved me. She wasn’t one of my teachers or one of my mother’s hotshot colleagues. 

“Right then, Celine.” She said and sounded like she was tasting a new dish. “What were you running toward?” 

“You, apparently.” I joked. “I ran straight into you, didn’t I?” 

“You sure did.” 

I took another sip of my coffee. “I had a panic attack,” I admitted almost sheepishly. “And when that happens I just have to get away from whatever situation I’m in. No matter what I’m doing.” 

“Oh, I see.” Greta nodded. “You don’t have to tell me anymore.” 

I chuckled. “Is this reversed psychology? Are you sure you’re not some kind of therapist?” 

Greta looked genuinely amused when she said: “No. At least not an authorized one.” 

And what does that mean exactly?

“You’re pretty good at giving vague answers,” I blurted out.

Greta laughed, and the rich, chocolate-y sound had the same effect as the coffee. It made me feel warm and comfortable. 

I looked at her. She had taken her blazer of, and her milky skin was a nice contrast to the deep blue dress she was wearing tonight. 

She actually looks a bit dolled up for a Thursday. Has she been out partying with the other refined people? 

Greta was refined, no doubt of it. She oozed class and sophistication, but unlike my mother, she didn’t have an urge to make people aware of it all the time. I found that to be a nice trait. 

I reached forward to take my cup from the coffee table. Greta made a similar attempt at taking her own cup, and our fingers connected briefly. 

“Your hands are cold,” I pointed out. I didn’t even know why I said it. 

Greta wrapped her fingers around her cup. “They always are. There’s little I can do to help it.” 

I blushed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” 

“It’s alright,” she assured and then changed the subject swiftly: “How are you feeling now? A little better I hope.” 

And oddly enough, I did. I felt loads better. I was going to write it of as the coffee’s soothing effect only, but I was I quickly understood that it wasn’t just that.

It was Greta. 

I looked into her ice blue eyes again. I’ve never had an epiphany before. At least not one big enough to actually matter. But now, as I was looking into her eyes and began listening to the little signals my   
body were sending me, I began to realize something. 

Something I wasn’t quite ready to say out loud yet. 

Something I hadn’t even considered. 

Never questioned before. 

I had never questioned my sexuality before. I had never had any reason to it. 

But now… 

Now I suddenly saw things quite clearly. 

There was a reason I picked up on what Greta wore every time I saw her. There was a reason I felt warm when she smiled or when she laughed. There was a reason my stomach turned liquid when she   
looked at me with her ice blue eyes. There was a reason I couldn’t breathe when our fingers connected. There was a reason I always felt ever so slightly disappointed when I saw her walk away. 

I was attracted to her. 

The realization hit me like a freight train, and my first impulse was to get up and run for the hills. But that couldn’t exactly be considered polite, could it? 

I’m attracted to her. I’m attracted to a woman.

“Are you quite alright?” 

“Yeah,” I croaked. “I’m fine.” 

She raised an eyebrow and I couldn’t blame her. I sounded anything but fine. 

I didn’t know what to do with this sudden epiphany. I didn’t even know whether or not I was supposed to take it seriously. I had just had a pretty bad panic attack. And I had been frustrated with how   
things were between me and Allen lately. 

And what if you’re sitting next to the reason for that? What if your subconscience has been yelling about something else? Someone else? 

Oh god. Was that the “problem”? Had my subconscience been fixated on Greta? Shit. I have to get out of here. Right now.

I quickly emptied my coffee cup in one go. “Thank you so much for the coffee, I better…” 

“Yes, of course. I’ll take you home.” 

Argh, shit. She’s supposed to drive me home. I completely forgot about that. Shit. 

Greta stood from the couch too and shrugged her blazer back on. 

I silently followed her out of the houseboat. I couldn’t even look at her. Let alone look at her. 

For the second time, I found myself to be back in her Mercedes. The drive was silent. I didn’t dare say a word to her. I was afraid of what kind of nonsense would come out of my mouth if I did.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for leaving kudos and comments! It really means a lot to me :D

I had to be sure. 

The “epiphany” or whatever had happened right after a panic attack.

I couldn’t trust it. 

Couldn’t trust my mind to realize such big things right then and there. 

So, at first, I had tried to write it off as nothing. Just my mind reaching all sorts of twisted conclusions, but as the week passed and I began to see things more clearly, I was beginning to realize that my epiphany wasn’t caught out of midair. 

It was genuine. 

I really was attracted to Greta. 

And the moment I admitted it to myself, the moment I said it out loud, things got complicated. 

My subconscience spiraled out of control and by nighttime, my brain was overflowing with dreams. 

Dreams so realistic, yet so farfetched I felt embarrassed when I woke up. Embarrassed, and with a dull throbbing feeling between my legs. A throbbing feeling so intense I had to wiggle my hand inside my underwear and rub myself until the throbbing feeling was replaced by the instant feeling of relief and breathlessness.

I couldn’t look Allen in the eye. 

Instead of facing him, I told him I was sick. I was being a coward. 

Because how the hell was I supposed to tell my sweet, kind, caring boyfriend that I was lusting for another woman? And an older woman, that was. 

I couldn’t possibly tell him that. He would be devastated. 

I didn’t know what to do with my newfound realization. I didn’t know what to make of it. I had never doubted my sexuality before. Had always taken it for granted that I was straight. 

But now........... 

Now I wasn’t so sure anymore. 

And I didn’t know how “deep” my attraction was exactly. I didn’t know how much I wanted, so to speak. 

Which was ridiculous. Because I had sworn that I wasn’t some hormonal teenager, and here I was, fantasizing about a woman who saw me for what I was. 

A seventeen year old. A child. 

I didn’t know what to do. And I kept thinking of that agonizingly painful car ride back to my house. I hadn’t uttered a word since entering the car, and I was positive that the refined and sophisticated Greta found that to be extremely rude. And it kind of was. She had done me a favor. She had taken care of me, been kind to me after my panic attack, and I had expressed my gratitude by clamming up like an oyster. Some thank you. 

The situation was starting to get to me, and I wanted nothing more than to just bury my feelings somewhere deep where I never had to confront them again. 

I wanted to pretend nothing had changed and be Allen’s girlfriend.

But of course I couldn’t do that, either. I couldn’t just pretend. If I did that, I would be an even bigger coward. But I didn’t know what to do, what to say. 

Suddenly, pretending I was sick leave seemed like a good idea. 

But unfortunately, I couldn’t do that either. 

My mother, the highly educated doctor brushed my murmurs of being sick aside and forced me to school every day. Damn her. 

At least, I wasn’t faced with Allen at school. He was luckier than I and had avoided private school. 

But I was faced with Hannah and Michelle. And they were worried about me. So they told me over and over. I looked too pale, they said. Too tired. 

“Is Allen keeping you up at night?” Michelle smirked. 

I grimaced. “No, of course he isn’t.” but Greta sure as hell is. 

Michelle’s playful attitude disappeared, and she frowned instead when she said: “I’m worried about you, Cel. You’re not yourself.”

“I just have a lot on my mind,” I shrugged. Ha! Well aint that the truth. “I mean, school is really kicking our asses,” I quickly continued. 

“You can say that again,” Michelle groaned. “I’m definitely taking a sabbath year after high school. No way I’m heading straight off to college.” 

“Yeah.” I answered vaguely. A sabbath year didn’t sound half bad. And preferably a sabbath year really, really far away from here. 

Suddenly, leaving Seattle didn’t seem like such a bad idea

That reminded me of me and Allen’s playful conversations about the future. About how we were supposed to move to New York together. 

I silently cursed myself and dearly wished I hadn’t run into Greta that day. My little admission was making me question everything. The entire future I had planned with my boyfriend. 

Yep, I was definitely screwed. So screwed. 

Because I had no idea how to “fix” this. I couldn’t just force myself to forget about my epiphany. 

Things weren’t exactly easy. I was confused and torn. On the one hand, I wanted to stay as far away from Greta as possible. 

And on the other hand, I had to use all my willpower not to sprint back to her houseboat and….

And do what, exactly?

That was the million dollar question. Suppose I somehow ended up at her place again. What was my intention then? 

Maybe it would be better if I didn’t think further about that question. Or my intentions for that matter.

 

That following Friday, I was working out my frustrations in the local fitness center. I had already been here for an hour, but my excess energy kept me going. I was hitting a punching bag repeatedly when my phone rang. 

I felt a hint of panic when I yanked my gloves off and removed my earbuds. The caller ID quickly told me what I needed to know. It’s not Allen. Phew. I frowned. I shouldn’t be relieved that my boyfriend wasn’t calling me. 

“Hey, Hannah.” 

“Hey, stranger,” came the reply, and I didn’t comment on it. I knew what she meant. I hadn’t exactly been around much this week. 

“What’s up? What are you doing?” Hannah asked. 

“I’m at the gym center. I suddenly felt the urge to burn some calories.” Ha! That’s to put it lightly. You’ve literally been punishing all your muscles for an hour.

“Why didn’t you call Allen then?” 

“I don’t think Allen is much of a fitness kind of guy.” 

Hannah laughed in the other end. “I was talking about other ways of burning calories, honey.” 

“Very funny,” I said and tried not to cringe. 

“Anyway,” Hannah said briskly. “Are you up for a night out tonight? You’re not still feeling sick, are you?” 

“No, I feel better today. That’s why I went down to the gym center,” I lied. “A night out sounds great.” 

“Smashing,” Hannah joked. “Some Random Bar”? Nine o’clock tonight?” 

“Sounds good. Is Michelle coming?” 

“Yes. And so is Steve.” 

“Ah.” I said, and I could almost see Hannah roll her eyes. Ben was the newest guy in Michelle’s life. The one and only, she claimed. Her one true love. Michelle found her one true love at least two times a month. 

“You should ask Allen to come,” Hannah suggested. 

“And let you be the third wheel? No way.” 

“It’ll be fine. At least I can actually talk to Allen,” Hannah said. 

I knew what she meant. Allen wasn’t like Steve who never hid the fact that he was there for Michelle and nothing else. 

“Alright, fine. I’ll ask him,” I said. I knew he was beginning to wonder about my lack of communication. I had only sent him a couple of texts this week, and that definitely wasn’t enough, considering how   
much we’ve texted each other in the beginning. I had to at least try and act like his girlfriend. “Epiphany” or not. 

“See you later then.” 

“See you.” 

I ended the call and sent Allen a quick text. The response came a minute later. He was happy I was feeling better, and he would love to go out with me and Hannah and Michelle later. 

I tucked the earbuds into my ears again, turned the volume up until I couldn’t hear my own thoughts and then I went back to punching the bag with newfound force. 

 

Hours later, I was back in my bedroom. I had showered, washed my hair and even “borrowed” some of my mothers very expensive conditioner. She would probably notice, but I deemed it worth it. My hair was incredibly soft now. 

I quickly sprayed a bit of Marc Jacobs Daisy on the side of my neck. Then I padded back into my room to find something appropriate to wear.

I had decided quite early on that I didn’t want to go all in. It was just a quiet night out with my friends and Allen. Not some fancy bar. I decided on a red top with strings in the back and black ripped jeans   
paired with my high heeled black boots. That would have to do for tonight. I wasn’t gonna squeeze myself into a dress. I didn’t hate myself that much. 

But I did add a touch of makeup to my face. Mascara that made my lashes curve upwards, a little bit of blush to my pale cheeks. I didn’t bother with high lightening tonight. not for a few drinks in a not   
very fancy bar. But I did apply a bit of pink lipstick. There. I was done. This was the best I could do for tonight. 

I grabbed my well loved leather jacket, my phone, purse and keys. Mother had the graveyard shift at the hospital. She wouldn’t ask for me until tomorrow. Sometimes I suspected that she didn’t care at all   
about my whereabouts as long as I kept scoring good grades at school. 

God, I can’t wait to get out of here. I flicked the lights off in the kitchen and then I left the house. 

I had a bus to catch. I tried to look forward to a night out with Allen and the girls, but a small part of me just wanted to get this over with. 

I tried to ignore that small part as I got on the bus. 

The bar was packed when I stepped inside, and for once, Hannah and Michelle were already there, and both of them squealed as they hugged me. Steve settled for a nod.

And they weren’t the only ones who were early. Allen was there too, and he smiled broadly at me. 

“Hey, babe,” he said. 

“Hi,” I parroted and gave him a hug. His arms immediately enveloped me in one of those tight hugs I used to love, but now I felt like I was suffocating, and my conscience was black when I kissed him. 

“Aww,” Hannah said. “You guys are so cute.” 

Allen laughed and kept his arm around me as we found somewhere to sit and ordered our drinks. 

It didn’t take long before Steve and Michelle became a part of the dancing crowd, and Allen gave my hand a little squeeze and smiled at me. 

I knew what he was getting at, but I was definitely not in the mood for dancing. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t dance tonight,” I said and took a sip of my drink. “Y’ know, after I’ve been sick and all.” 

“Oh yeah, of course.” Allen said. “We’ll just sit here instead.” His arm looped around my shoulder again. 

I did my best to snuggle up to him like I normally did, but it didn’t feel right anymore. It felt forced on my part. And it didn’t get better when he kissed me again. I tried my utmost to melt into the kiss   
and feel all the things I normally felt when he kissed me. Warm and giddy.

But absolutely nothing happened. I returned the kiss, but it wasn’t accompanied by anything. I literally just sat there and kissed him without feeling much. 

And a nasty little voice in the back of my head suddenly found it appropriate to once again remind me of my lack enthusiasm when we had sex. I wonder why that is? 

Okay, that’s it. I broke the kiss rather abruptly and grappled for excuses as I said: “Do you mind watching my drink? I need the ladies’ room.” 

“Sure thing, baby.” 

I had to stop myself from bolting. Running away would probably look very suspicious. 

Calm down, Celine, calm down. 

My silent attempts at calming myself didn’t work, and I hadn’t really expected them too either. 

I could literally feel my shoulders uncurl and fall into their normal position when I closed the door to the bathroom. Ahh. Much better. Any chance I can stay in here for the rest of night? 

I leaned back against the door for a second and closed my eyes. I should have declined Hannah offer and told her that I couldn’t make it tonight. I should have come up with some genius excuse instead   
of agreeing to this. 

And what about Allen? I snorted quietly. I had a feeling he would have called me if I hadn’t called him. I was his girlfriend, and I had barely talked to him all week. It was only natural that he would call me   
at some point. 

I hollowed my cheeks and puffed out the air sharply. Some girlfriend I am. Allen was literally the sweetest guy on earth. He was perfect. He had done nothing but being good to me.

And I thanked him by lusting after something else. After someone else. I’m a monster, I dully acknowledged as I dragged myself over to the sink. The tap creaked slightly as I switched it on and splashed   
cold water on my face. I had been in the bar for what, twenty minutes? Was it too late to pretend I didn’t feel good? Was I actually that much of a coward? Was I seriously looking for an excuse to ditch my   
friends and Allen? 

Damn, I’ll definitely not win the “friend of the year” award anytime soon. Or the “girlfriend of the year” award for that matter. I switched the water off and grabbed one of the paper towels to dab my face. 

I am just such a coward, I thought to myself as I squashed the paper towel into a ball and threw it into the bin. An absolute bitch, my subconscience continued as I very slowly raised my head again. And the biggest coward to ever…

“Oh Jesus!” I yelled when I saw Greta behind me in the mirror. 

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, I just need the sink.” 

“Right. Yes. Got it.” I squeaked and stepped back from the sink. 

“Thank you. And hello. Again.” Greta said, and her high heels clacked-clacked on the tiles as she walked over to the sink to wash her hands. 

She was wearing red nail polish, I immediately noted. And she seemed to do that a lot. Maybe red was her favorite color. And she looked just as put together as she always did in a snug, black pencil skirt ending just below her knees and a cream colored blouse stuffed into the waistband of her skirt. And her hair were once again curled and flawless. 

“Hi,” I muttered halfheartedly. Why tonight? I silently asked whatever god was up there. Why does she have to be at this bar tonight? 

It wasn’t fair. I had tried very hard to pretend everything was fine, and then the object of my confused thoughts showed up. Perfect. Fucking smashing. 

“Do you mind handing a paper towel?” Greta asked and interrupted my inner complains. “My hands are dripping.” 

“Of course,” I said as I grabbed a few of the paper towels from the machine. As I came closer, I caught a whiff of her perfume. Jasmine. Orange flower. And... my brows furrowed slightly as I handed her the paper towels. Coffee? Yes, definitely coffee. Mmm. That smelled good. I wonder what perfume she uses?

“Thank you.” She flashed me a smile as she wiped her hands and then threw the paper towels in the bin. 

“No problem.” 

I should probably leave. Hanging around in a bathroom in the back of a bar was definitely weird, but I had very little desire to leave. 

So I pretended to check the messages on my phone, but actually I was watching Greta as she roamed around in her purse for a few seconds and then retrieved a lipstick. She professionally applied it to her lips and I swear to god she made this slight “pop” sound with her mouth as she made sure there wasn’t any redundant lipstick left. 

Then she brought one of her manicured fingers up to her hair and combed through it a few times. Not that she needed to. Her hair already looked pretty flawless to me. I unconsciously touched my own, carefully curled hair. 

“That looks nice.” Greta commented. 

“Sorry?” 

“Your hair.” 

“Oh, I… I tried something new,” I said slightly befuddled. 

“It suits you.” 

“Thank you.”

“How have you been since our last encounter?” Greta nonchalantly continued. 

“What?” I blinked and tried to snap out of my trance. “Oh, uhm, good. Yeah, I’ve been good.” 

“Good.” Greta said. “I’m glad to see you’re doing well. I was worried about you. You were very quiet the last time.” 

Yeah, well, I was sort of in the middle of finding out that I’m attracted to you, and you giving me a ride home didn’t really help, so….

“The panic attacks makes me tired,” I replied. It wasn’t a lie, but it sure felt like one right now. 

“Ah. I understand,” Greta nodded. 

I almost felt tempted to laugh. No, you don’t. You really, really don’t. 

“But thanks for taking me home that night,” I mumbled. “You didn’t have to.” 

“Nonsense,” Greta said briskly. “It was getting late and it’s not wise for young women to run around in the streets.” 

“You were running around in the streets too,” I blurted out before I could stop myself. 

Greta laughed hoarsely. “I said young women, Miss Welles.” 

I opened my mouth to protest, but she beat me to it: 

“That was a quip,” she assured and her ice blue eyes gleamed. 

“So I’m not the only one who should be careful at night.” I muttered. 

She laughed again. “With all due respect dear, I think I’m a bit more street smart than you.” 

I cocked my head. “Are you implying that I can’t take care of myself?” 

“No, I’m implying that I have pepper spray in my purse.” 

I blinked. “Seriously?” 

“Mhmm,” Greta said nonchalantly. “Masked as a lipstick.” 

“Clever.” I said. “Maybe I should get one too.” 

“It’s definitely recommendable if you’re gonna run around on the streets late,” Greta said and scrunched up her hair one last time. She shifted her weight from one leg to another, and then as an   
afterthought, she popped the first button in her blouse open. 

Great. That was definitely not helpful at all. I swallowed something. The opened button had quite the effect on certain things. 

“Well, I should get back to it,” she said. 

“Yeah.” Back to what, exactly? It occurred to me, that there was a chance she wasn’t here alone. 

She flashed me a smile as she clack clack’ed across the tiles and over to the door. I followed her. I had very little reason to hang out in a bathroom. 

As soon as the door was opened, I was faced with Hannah who had abandoned our table.

“Oh. Great,” she said. “I was just about to check on you. Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” I quickly assured. 

“Good. I was getting a bit worried because you were in there so lo… oh. Hi.” She interrupted herself when she saw Greta. 

“Hello,” Greta said and flashed Hannah a little smile. 

“Did you make a new friend in the bathroom?” Hannah asked me and chuckled slightly. 

“No, Celine and I have known each other for quite a while now,” Greta answered before I got the chance. “We have a habit of running into each other all the time. Isn’t that right?” 

I nodded wordlessly. 

“Oh, okay.” Hannah said and looked at me. “You’ve never mentioned that.” 

Shut up, shut up, shut up. I was trying to come up with an acceptable answer when Greta said: “I’m afraid I can’t stay and chat. Do excuse me.” 

With that she walked over to a man sitting at a nearby table. For the second time I was overwhelmed by the urge to bolt when I saw her give him a kiss on the cheek and say: “I’m back, darling.” 

I glanced quickly at the guy. He looked like your average kind of guy, dressed in jeans and a button down. There was nothing unusual about him, but there was one little detail I found mighty interesting. It was a different guy. I was a hundredth percent certain of that. I still had some foggy memories about the two other guys I had seen her with stored away in my brain, and this man was neither of the two other guys.

Who’s he? I wondered. New flirt? She doesn’t have a boyfriend. She said so herself. 

I knew it was completely stupid because I was here with my boyfriend myself but seeing Greta with that guy… that stung. So far, I’ve seen her with three different guys. She sacks them fast. Not that there was anything wrong with that or anything. I wasn’t silently judging her for it.

If I had been in doubt about my epiphany before, I definitely wasn’t anymore. No, I was definitely attracted to Greta, and not just a little bit either. Damnit. 

“Celine? Hello?” 

I blinked and forced myself back to reality and Hannah who was still standing in front of me. 

“Are you coming?” Hannah asked and raised an eyebrow at my odd behavior. 

“Yeah, coming.” I muttered as I followed her back to our table and Allen. 

Michelle and Steve had come back to the table. Michelle was busying herself with a drink, but Steve was looking in Greta’s direction. 

“Who’s she?” he asked as soon as we sat down. 

Good question. Who is she? Who is she really? I had no idea, but Steve probably wouldn’t be satisfied with that answer. 

“Her name is Greta.” I muttered halfheartedly. 

“Damn,” Steve said as he stared rather unabashedly. 

“Hey!” Michelle said and jabbed in the ribs. “You’re here with me.” 

“Sorry,” Steve laughed and was quick to wrap an arm around Michelle. But he was still looking in Greta’s direction. 

Hannah scoffed and rolled her eyes. “She’s old enough to be your mom.” 

“She’s not that old.” I heard myself protest. And definitely not old enough to be the mother of a teenager-

Thankfully, nobody really picked up on it, and Hannah continued: “And I’m pretty sure she’s not interested in hooking up with a seventeen year old.” 

Steve shot Hannah a rather nasty look but didn’t say anything. 

Allen chuckled slightly. “Don’t start fighting,” he warned as he wrapped an arm around me and pulled me closer. 

Not interested in hooking up with a seventeen year old. And why should she? That would be ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. 

I just wanted the earth to swallow me whole


	14. Chapter Fourteen

To my surprise, my mother was home when I returned home from school the following Friday. I frowned slightly at this atypical behavior. Normally, she was never home in the early afternoon. Her life consisted of work, work, work. Rihanna would be proud of her. 

But it didn’t take me long to figure out why she was home now. A suitcase was lying open on the table, and she was maniacally ironing one of her already smooth white blouses. 

“What’s going on?” I asked as I shrugged my ragged and tattered denim jacket off. 

“I’ll be flying to New York tonight.” she said shortly. 

“Okay. Why?” 

“I’ve been asked to give a speech at the conference.” She pressed the iron down hard and I felt slightly sorry for her poor shirt. 

“Okay.” I shrugged and ripped my beanie off and ran a finger through my hair. 

“I’ll be gone for two weeks,” she continued. “And I expect you to be sensible while I’m gone. Do your homework.” 

“When have I never not done my homework?” I muttered in defense. 

She completely overheard that. “Your grades are now more important than ever, Celine. They are your ticket into medical school.” 

“But I don’t want to…” I mumbled but didn’t finish the sentence. It wasn’t worth it. Soon I’ll be eighteen. She can’t tell me what to do then. 

“Study hard,” mother continued. “That’s what will get you forward in life. You best remember that, sweetie. I hope you’ll focus on what really matters and not be distracted by anything else.” 

By distracted, she meant Allen and my friends, I knew that. She found it unacceptable that I had a social life. If she got her way, I would be hunched over the books every day, every hour. 

I snorted quietly. If only she knew what was really distracting me these days. She would get the surprise of a lifetime. 

“Celine are you even listening to me?” 

I blinked as my mother’s voice brought me back. “Yeah, of course. Education is important,” I parroted. 

She didn’t quite catch my sarcasm and said: “I’m glad we agree on that. It’s very unfortunate I can’t bring you with me to New York. I would have liked you to meet some of my colleagues, but I’ll be sure   
to mention you. It’s no harm thinking of the future. Several of them have influence.” 

Her phone started chiming and I breathed a sigh of relief when her attention shifted, and she picked up and said: “Hello, this is Dr. Welles.” 

This was definitely my chance to disappear, and I didn’t hesitate to do just that. I quickly scurried upstairs and closed the door. 

I didn’t give two shits about her high payed friends with “influence”. And I certainly didn’t give a damn about medical school. That wasn’t what I had in mind for the future. 

I dumped the bag on the floor and flopped back on the bed. Medical school, my ass. I wanted to write. That had been my dream since I was nine, but already then I had been smart enough to keep my   
mouth shut about it. Mother would never understand. In her mind, my future was already planned. 

It didn’t occur to her that I wanted something else. 

She just trampled over me as usual. 

But just a little bit longer, I would 18. And then I would be done with her. My plan was to get out of this house as soon as possible. I was willing to live in a shed if it meant I didn’t have to live with my mother. 

Graduation and then a sabbatical year with loads of work. And then goodbye Seattle. 

I didn’t really care where I would end up. As long as there would be plenty of distance between me and my mother. I wanted out of Maura Welles shadow for good. I wanted to be just me. The way I were, and not the way she wanted me to be.

I stayed in my room while she tornadoe’d around downstairs and packed. She kept walking back upstairs and I silently wondered how much clothes she could possibly need. 

While she packed, I updated my blog. I had been neglecting the blog for a while now. School was getting busy. Graduation was looming over us as some sort of shadow. 

Maybe it was time to put the blog on hold. At least until things weren’t as busy. 

I scrolled through old posts on the blog and my gaze fell on a picture I had uploaded to the page once. A picture of Lauren Bacall. 

It didn’t take long before my thoughts swirled around Lauren Bacall’s “twin” instead of the very detailed review on the screen. 

Greta was haunting me again. The way she had applied her lipstick. The scent of her perfume. The way she had popped the first button in her blouse open. 

Wow, wow, wow. I balked immediately. I was definitely thinking like a hormonal seventeen year old right now. I’m worse than a guy. 

Speaking of guy…. Who was that guy in the bar? She said she didn’t have a boyfriend, but I’m pretty sure she called him “darling” isn’t that a pretty couple-y thing to do? I mean, Allen calls me “babe” all the time... 

I snorted. Thinking of Greta and Allen at the same time was definitely not advisable. Neither was being jealous. It was pathetic that I felt miserable over having seen Greta with a guy. 

I had a boyfriend myself. And she doesn’t belong to me. She barely knows me. 

I scowled as I clicked away from the blog and onto YouTube instead. I wanted to distract myself, but to my surprise, I ended up finding background music, plugging my headphones into the computer, and then I began writing. About the woman I kept running into. About the woman I couldn’t get out of my head, no matter how hard I tried. Writing about her felt both oddly therapeutic and at the same time strangely forbidden. I was literally pouring out my soul as I wrote. I wrote down every last forbidden thought. Every single way she captivated me. All the things that made me feel so desperately attracted to her.   
This passage ended up being the most I had written in a very long time. The words were flowing freely. I could barely stop again.

 

A few hours later, my mother informed me that she would be leaving. There was money left in the tin can, and she strongly advised me not to buy junk food again.

“Really, dear. You must look better after yourself,” she said in that horrible “I know better”- tone. 

“Yes, mother.” I parroted. 

And then the taxi pulled up in front of the house and she was gone. 

The house was so quiet now that she was gone. Any other day I would have found the silence peaceful, but mother had successfully managed to make me feel bad with her weight comment, and I had very little desire to be alone. 

I grabbed my phone and was just about to call Allen, but I quickly nixed that idea for two reasons. One, he had been absent at school today, and when I texted him later, he mentioned something about having the flu, and two, I couldn’t just call him because I felt bad for myself. That wasn’t fair to him. I hadn’t been a very good girlfriend lately, and I knew that I had to either swallow whatever feelings I   
had for Greta or break up with Allen. 

But breaking up with him while he was sick seemed incredibly cold hearted.

And I couldn’t just order myself to forget Greta. That wasn’t how things worked. 

I sighed as I dialed Hannah’s number. I was screwed. 

Hannah wasn’t answering, and neither was Michelle, so I decided a different approach. How about a run? I had been kicking ass in the gym lately, but an actual run outside and not on the treadmill would make a nice change. 

Yes, I was definitely in the mood for a run. Or maybe that comment about my weight just lingered in my mind, but either way I changed into my running outfit, pulled my hair back in a ponytail and found my phone and earbuds. 

But there wasn’t really many places to run in Queen Anne, so I cheated a little bit. I took the bus to Lake Union. It was a nice day, and Lake Union was a beautiful place to run. 

And maybe, just maybe I had an ulterior motive when I chose this exact location, but I quickly brushed that thought off. I simply wanted to go for a run that was all. 

And running was exactly what I did. My feet didn’t exactly need further encouragement. They simply lifted off the ground on their own. Funny, I seemed to have a lot of access energy after a run in with   
my mother. 

It’s boiled up rage, I told myself as I turned the music up and sped up my run. Past the two drawbridges and Lake Union park. I chose the lakeside on Fairview Avenue and caught a peek of the houseboats. A part of me wanted to linger just for a moment, but I urged myself to go on. To keep running. 

Thud, thud, thud, my shoes creaked slightly every time they connected with the pavement. Up the little hills, down again. Past the parked cars. I was almost flying.

I felt quite proud of myself. Look at me, mother. I’m running. I’m minding my figure. 

This was not letting her win the fight so to speak. Yeah, I was annoyed about the remark about my fondness for junk food, but I wasn’t letting her win. If I had stayed at home and actually eaten junk   
food…... That would have been letting her win. 

But maybe it would have been clever to check my weather app before leaving. I stopped abruptly and turned the volume on Beyoncé down a notch. I removed my earbuds as I looked up at the sky. 

The weather didn’t look half as good anymore. The sky was darkening rapidly, and purple-blue clouds were looming over me. 

Oh, shit. Not again. Once again, I was screwed. There was a low rumbling, a threading crackling from above, and then the downfall. The pouring. The heavens quite literally opened their gates and the rain   
came pouring down. And it was no light little shower, oh no. It was this “will get you soaked in two seconds”-rain. 

A few minutes ago, I had been running because I wanted to. Now I was running because I had to. I was literally running to safety. Anything would do, really. A large tree I could hide under or a bus shelter. 

I knew for a fact I wasn’t that far from a bus shelter, but before I got the chance to resume my sprint, I was momentarily blinded by the lights from a car. I shielded my eyes with my hand as I stepped onto the pavement, but instead of passing me, the car pulled up next to me. A window was rolled down, and next second Greta poked her head out of the open window: “Miss Welles, may I ask what on earth you’re doing out in this weather?” 

“Running.” I said lamely. “The weather sort of… surprised me.” 

“Get in the car,” Greta said plainly. 

I didn’t really hesitate. I simply went round the car and hopped onto the front seat. “Thanks.” I muttered. 

“You’ll end up catching pneumonia,” Greta scowled, and her ice blue eyes were glazed with concern. 

I mumbled something incoherent. Once again, Greta had come to my aid. I silently wondered how many times this woman could save me from whatever “danger” I was in. 

And then I wondered where she had been. She wasn’t wearing that fur collar coat of hers today, and the dove grey wrap dress she was donning looked expensive. 

“You’re far away from home again,” Greta observed and interrupted my musings. 

“I took the bus to get here.” 

“I see.” 

The way she said it almost let me to believe she was planning on dropping me off at the nearest bus stop, but she didn’t. Instead she parked the car in front of her houseboat instead. 

I silently followed her inside like I had done it once before. And I was immensely grateful for being taken here instead of to a bus stop. The weather was absolutely terrible. Lightening was still zigzagging   
across the sky and the houseboat was rocking slightly. 

“I do hope you don’t get seasick,” Greta quipped. 

I chuckled a little at that. “To be honest, I’ve never spent much time on a boat.” 

“Oh, well there’s a first time for everything,” Greta said and rubbed her hands together. 

I couldn’t blame her. “It’s really cold outside,” I observed. Really? How smart of you, Celine. I’m pretty sure she had no idea. 

But Greta simply nodded. “Yes, it sure is.” she agreed. 

“Mm.” I was beginning to feel a bit miserable. I looked like a drowned mouse and Greta looked every bit as sophisticated as she always did. Her perfect 1940 curls even survived the trip from the car to the   
houseboat. That really wasn’t fair. 

“Would you like some coffee?” Greta offered. 

“Yeah, thanks. Coffee would be great.” I would really appreciate that. I was soaked to the bone and shivered. 

Her heels clacked as she walked into the kitchen to make the coffee. “There’s a bathroom upstairs if you want to freshen yourself up a bit.” 

“Thank you.” I would really appreciate that too. I had a feeling my mascara was running, and my hair looked terrible. 

“Down the hall and to the left,” Greta instructed as I walked up the stairs. 

“Got it.” 

Of course, Greta’s bathroom wasn’t lacking anything. That much was obvious when I stepped inside. It was very well equipped with white towels, very well smelling hand soap and a myriad of expensive looking creams lined up along the sink. I shook my head a little and cringed slightly as I pulled my hoodie off with a quiet “schwelp” the material was soaked, and I was far better off in my tanktop.

Damn. I could already tell that Greta cared about her appearance and took care of herself, but this was a little extreme. I had never seen so many hand creams, face creams, day creams, night creams, body scrubs and shampoo’s in any bathroom. My curiosity got the best of me, and after washing my face and smoothening my hair just a bit I opened the cabinet above the sink and took a quick peek inside, even though it was an impolite thing to do. 

I didn’t even look for something in particular, but I ended up finding a perfume with a very familiar scent. Jasmine. Orange flowers. Coffee. I twisted the lit off and took a proper sniff. Mmm! That smells fantastic. With the scent still prickling in my nose I took a closer look at the perfume. Yves Saint Laurent, Black Opium. I whistled quietly. I knew enough about perfume to know how expensive this particular one was. 

Greta was definitely not lacking anything. She appeared to have everything. And yet… I frowned slightly as the image of her celebrating her birthday alone in some random café popped into my mind. She had seemed so… Alone that night. Almost vulnerable. 

Why celebrate your birthday alone? I wondered. Why not be with your friends and family? 

Right. I don’t have many friends. That’s what she had said.

The sound of music brought me out of my musings and I left the bathroom. 

“Good timing. Coffee’s ready,” Greta said as I came down the stairs. 

“Thanks.” I said and sat down on her big velvet couch. 

“You don’t mind a bit of music, do you? I’ve always found it relaxing after a long day.” Greta said and took a sip of her freshly brewed tea. 

“No, it’s fine.” I assured and sipped the hot coffee. 

And it was fine. And then it wasn’t. The song playing was a little too… Revealing.

 

“' And I've got no defense for it  
The heat is too intense for it  
What good would common sense for it do?

'cause it's witchcraft, wicked witchcraft  
And although I know it's strictly taboo  
When you arouse the need in me  
My heart says "Yes, indeed" in me  
"Proceed with what you're leadin' me to."

 

Jeez, could she possible have chosen a worse song? I silently wondered. I forced myself to stop listening to the knowing lyrics and looked around in the living room instead. My gaze fell on the shelf in the corner, and my inner movie geek immediately reared her head at what I saw. That was quite the impressive collection of old movies she had there. She was a Hitchcock fan. I scanned the shelf to see if I could spot any Lauren Bacall movies. Who knew, maybe Greta watched them just to see her doppelganger on the screen. 

“You have a lot of movies,” I observed and smiled. I wouldn’t have taken her for such a movie buff. 

“Yes,” she nodded and took a sip of her tea. “Unfortunately, I don’t have time to watch them.” 

“Oh, that’s a shame. Busy with work?” I guessed. She appeared to be the quintessential business woman. 

“Yes, I always have enough to do.” Greta replied and one of her manicured fingers came up to fix an already perfect curl. 

“What was it you said you did for a living?” 

“I didn’t,” Greta teased lightly and chuckled. “But it variates a lot. And it involves a lot of dinners with clients.”

“Okay.” I wasn’t surprised that Greta was working with people. If anyone knew how to act around people, it was her. 

“Is the coffee alright?” she asked. 

“Yeah, it’s fine,” I assured. 

“Good. That’s good.” 

I stole another glance at her. And to my surprise, she was looking at me too. I didn’t even try to look away this time. Those eyes. Those ice blue eyes. It felt like she was staring directly into my mind. Like she could figure out all of my secrets just by looking at me. 

God, what are you doing to me? I was torn. Either I look away or I move closer. What would happen if I did move closer to her? What would she do? 

It suddenly occurred to me, that while I hadn’t moved, Greta had. She had definitely moved closer to me, and I suddenly found myself half mad with the need to touch her. God, how I wanted to touch her. 

I wanted to reach out and touch her hand. Just once. Or her cheek. I already knew it was smooth, and I so wanted to touch it. Just once. And more importantly, I wanted to her to touch me. 

“Finish your coffee, Miss Welles, and I’ll drive you home.” 

And just like that, Greta had broken the spell. She had also moved away from me, and I felt both disappointed and frustrated as I drained my cup of coffee and followed her out of the houseboat. 

Frank Sinatra had barely finished singing about “Witchcraft”.

 

It had stopped raining, I noted as I found myself back in Greta’s enormous Mercedes. Much like the last time, the drive was completely silent. Once again, I was too scared to open my mouth. I didn’t trust myself to not say something stupid. 

Greta was quiet too as she drove me back to Queen Anne and parked outside my house. 

“There we are, Miss Welles.” 

“Thank you.” I muttered as I struggled to free myself from the seatbelt. 

“Your house looks dark,” she commented. 

“I’m alone,” I shrugged lightly. 

She frowned. Clearly, she didn’t like that. 

“I don’t mind being alone,” I assured. “In fact I prefer it.” 

She only frowned deeper at that.

But I had reached my limit when it came to delve into family history. 

“Thank you for taking me home,” I said again. 

“It was not a problem.” Greta said. 

“You weren’t exactly going this way,” I pointed out. 

“Perhaps not. But I don’t mind the drive.” 

I took her word for it and once again tried to free myself from the seatbelt. But the buckle appeared to be stuck. Damnit. First my voice failed me, and now I couldn’t even free myself from a damn seatbelt. 

Suddenly Greta’s soft hands pushed mine out of the way and I heard a soft click as she effortlessly unbuckled the seatbelt for me. 

“Thank you.” I squeaked. She was suddenly rather close, and something stirred in my stomach. 

“You say thank you a lot,” Greta observed quietly. “Did you know that?” 

I nodded wordlessly. I did know that. And I also knew that this was my que to get out of the car. I put my hand on the door, but I found myself unable to leave. The idea of leaving this car and wait for another “accidental” meeting was excruciating. 

What if I’m tired of running into her by chance? What if I don’t care that she’s older than me? What if I don’t care about anything anymore? 

I released my grip on the door and turned around to face her instead. She hadn’t moved an inch. The scent of her perfume was making me dizzy and her eyes made my heart thunder against my ribcage. 

I noticed that my breathing had changed in a way I had never experienced before. And I didn’t feel cold anymore. I felt warm, so warm. My skin was burning up. 

I couldn’t control myself any longer. And maybe I was just a teenager completely controlled by my hormones, but instead of considering that possibility, I leaned in and brushed my lips against hers. 

It barely lasted ten seconds. Could barely be considered a kiss. The second our lips connected, Greta immediately pulled back. 

“Oh honey, you don’t wanna do that,” she warned and shook her head.

But the thing was… I did. I wanted to do that. And I had probably wanted too since she kissed my cheek that evening on the bar. The warning was wasted on me, and as to stress that out, I leaned forward and kissed her a second time. And this time she kissed me back. I could feel it. Her lips were soft and warm against my own and even if I had initiated the kiss, she was very much in control. My lips followed hers, not the other way around, and every nerve in my body came alive in ways I had never imagined. It felt like someone had lit a fire inside me, and I had no idea how to put the fire out. This was more than just tingles. It was much more intense. Stronger. I barely knew my body anymore and fuck, she tastes so good. Of chocolate. Dark chocolate. And... Strawberries. Of spice and honey and.........

My musings were rudely interrupted when Greta pushed me away. 

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” she stated plainly. 

“Why?” I asked just as plainly. 

She shook her head. “You may tell the bartenders you’re twenty one, but you and I both know you’re not.” 

“I don’t care,” I said. “This is what I want.” 

To my surprise, she chuckled. A deep, rich sound. “Believe me, it’s not.” 

I opened my mouth to protest, but Greta held up a hand to silence me. 

“You may feel like that now,” she said. “But trust me, this is not what you want. I apologize if I have confused you, that wasn’t my intention.” 

“Confused me?” I repeated and could feel my temper boil. How dared she imply I was confused? That I wasn’t capable of recognizing my own feelings? “I am perfectly capable of knowing what…” 

“I think it would be better if you left.” She cut me off. 

“Greta...” 

“Goodbye, Miss Welles.” She said firmly and looked straight ahead. The implication was clear. The conversation was very much over. 

Arguing with her was pointless, I was smart enough to know that. And I let my anger speak as I slammed the car door behind me as I left. 

She spared me no second glances as she drove away, and I felt incredibly small as I went inside the empty house. If she really thought it was so wrong, why had kissing her felt so right?


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Rejection tasted like bile. 

I found out of that the following night. 

And rejection kept you up and unable to rest.

I found out of that too. 

I kept going over it again and again as I tossed and turned in my bed. I had kissed her, and she had rejected me. 

The words felt like a blunt knife, and it felt like it was being screamed in my face. I HAD KISSED HER, AND SHE HAD REJECTED ME. 

The rejection stung, but I was kinda pissed off too. She had taken control and claimed that I was incapable of knowing what I wanted. How dared she? 

And she had kissed me back. 

I was sure of that. I could still feel the firm pressure from her lips, could still smell her intoxicating perfume. 

And that was the part that actually confused me. If she had no interest in me, then why kiss me back? Why not immediately throw me out of her car? 

And there was the issue of the second kiss. Why had she allowed that if she wasn’t interested? 

Maybe she’s screwing with you. 

But I didn’t believe that. Not really. Greta was too much a lady to “screw” with anyone. 

Then maybe she’s smart enough to not get involved with a seventeen year old? 

If she’s that smart, why allow the second kiss to happen? 

She could say what she wanted, but I wasn’t “confused”. There was chemistry between us no matter what she said. And I was certain she knew that. 

No, the kiss had felt right. Right in ways I had never imagined. 

But something puzzled me. Her choice of words. “Oh honey, you don’t wanna do that.” 

That struck me as odd. Not “don’t do that”, or “stop” or even “what the hell do you think you’re doing?”, but “Oh honey, you don’t wanna do that.” 

In my book, that qualified as a warning. Greta had warned me. About herself. 

The question was why. Why was she warning me about herself? If someone kissed me seemingly without consent, I wouldn’t be that calm. I would scream in their face and ask them what the hell they were   
doing, and I would definitely not warm them about myself. I would warn them and let them know I would kick their ass if they ever did that again. 

But Greta had warned me about herself. 

Was it really just about the age difference? I had initiated the kiss. I wasn’t some kid being taken advantage of. And Greta didn’t exactly strike me as a predator. 

I couldn’t make sense of it, and the events kept me up for the entire night. I hadn’t been confused. She hadn’t confused me. I knew what I felt. 

 

The following morning, I learned what guilt tasted like. 

Metallic and bitter. 

And no matter how many times I brushed my teeth, gargled water and chewed gum, the taste was still there. The guilt couldn’t be flushed away that easily. 

I had kissed someone while being in a relationship with Allen. 

I had betrayed him.

The metallic taste seemed fitting for a monster like me. 

And what made me a monster wasn’t just what I had done, but the fact that I kept replaying the event in my head over and over again. 

All monsters are greedy, and I was no exception for that rule. I was craving Greta. Kissing her had only made my need for her worse. 

I was too much of a coward to pick up when Allen called me in the middle of breakfast. I had no idea what to say to him. This wasn’t something that could be said over the phone and picking up and chatting with him would only add one more lie to the pile. 

Of course, there was the good old excuse. “It was just a kiss. Nothing happened”. But as much of a coward I was, I wasn’t that big of a coward. No, I would talk to him. Once he wasn’t sick anymore. I couldn’t dump this on him while he was sick. That would be such a shitty thing to do. 

So, I texted him and told him that I would be busy studying the next few days. Which was a shitty excuse, but I had nothing else right now. I didn’t know how to explain this to him. How was I supposed to tell him that I had cheated on him with a woman much older than myself? 

I doubt there’s an easy way to tell that.

As I ate breakfast in an attempt to normalize things, I realized something else. 

My hoodie wasn’t here. 

And as soon as I realized that, I immediately knew exactly where it was. 

In Greta’s bathroom. 

I had taken it off and wringed water out of it, but I had forgotten it when I left the houseboat. 

Shit. 

Obviously, it wouldn’t be the end of the world if I didn’t get the shirt back, but my mother seemed to know exactly what I had in my closet, and she would definitely ask questions when she found out the shirt was gone, and she wouldn’t be thrilled if I told her I had misplaced it. 

And I actually kinda liked that hoodie. 

I scoffed as I took a sip of my coffee. I bet Greta will be just over the moon to see me. Shit. Double shit. 

Maybe it didn’t have to come to that. I found my phone and typed “Greta Adams” into the search engine. No result. 

Seriously? She doesn’t have a cellphone? Who doesn’t have a cellphone nowadays? Rubbish. Of course she has a cellphone. Her number simply wasn’t listed anywhere. My plan had been to call her, leave a   
message and ask her to drop the hoodie off whenever, but it would appear that it was impossible.

This wasn’t my day either. It would probably be better to leave the damn hoodie, but my addiction suddenly flared up. Just one more time. I have to see her one more time, and then I’ll leave her alone for good. I will. I swear I will. 

So, after breakfast I was out and about again. Walked to Queen Anne Avenue, waited fifteen minutes. Got on the bus. Tried to get control my chaotic thoughts but didn’t really get the chance before the eleven stops were up and the bus stopped at 3rd Avenue and Pine Street, and I had to catch another bus. 

God, what I’m doing? I thought to myself as I hopped onto the second bus. Why go through all this for someone who wanted nothing to do with me? Why was I always so damn stubborn? 

You have a problem, I dully informed myself as the bus passed café’s and parks and playing children. You’re well on your way to harass a woman who rejected you. Maybe she’ll call the police on me? 

I almost snorted at that. Hormonal seventeen year old arrested for harassing woman. How thrilled my mother would be. I chuckled quietly as we drove down Eastlake Ave. Nearly there. 

A few minutes later the bus stopped, and I walked out on the street. Now I had a little bit of a walk ahead of me, but I didn’t mind that. The fresh air was an excellent way to clear my head. I was just there to have my shirt back. That was the only thing. Nothing more. Don’t be a harasser, and don’t be an addict. She’s not interested. 

The wind blew through my blonde hair. I had forgotten to tie it back into a ponytail this morning, and I quickly began to regret that. My hair was wild, and if I didn’t tie it back, it would bear certain similarities to a haystack, and I suspected it did just that right now. Oh, well. At least it wasn’t wet like the last time. 

I rounded a corner and spotted all the house boats. I could easily remember which one of them belonged to Greta. It wasn’t too big or too small, and she had this pot of red flowers standing outside. 

Those stood out. I quickly scanned the area. There was no one around. Maybe all of the fancy houseboats owners were out earning buckets of money on their fancy jobs

I hopped “aboard” the floating cottage and knocked on the door. 

There was no answer, but the door creaked open. 

I hovered on the threshold. If I crossed that threshold I would be trespassing on private property, and that would be a very good reason for Greta to actually call the police on me. 

If I were smart enough, I would have waited until I was given permission to come inside. 

I wasn’t smart. I went inside without permission. 

But I was still polite enough to let her know I was here. “Hello? Greta?” 

There was no answer, but I could hear the sound of water running upstairs. I frowned. Is she showering with the doors unlocked? Either this was a very safe neighborhood, or she didn’t care.

I decided to wait inside until she was done. For two reasons. One, my shirt was lying upstairs in the occupied bathroom. And two, it would look suspicious if I walked out of the houseboat again. Someone could see me and think I was a thief or something like that. 

So, I waited in the living room. I wasn’t bold enough to sit down on the enormous velvet couch. I shifted my weight from one leg to the other as I looked around. This was a very nice place. So much nicer than my own, boxy house. Our house was definitely too big for two persons, and the rooms were always cold. Or maybe it was just the atmosphere in the house. 

This place was warm. You felt welcome. Even if you were kicked out last night. No. She had kicked me out of her car. Not her home. But if I had kissed her right here in her houseboat, she probably would have kicked me out. Possibly. Or maybe she was fucking polite enough to drive me home anyway. She probably was. Totally well mannered.

My gaze landed on the packed shelf like it had last night. She had so many movies. I knew many of the titles. It would appear that we both liked old movies. 

And she had quite the impressive book collection too. Lots of Stephen King novels were displayed on the shelf. And I was pretty sure any music store would be jealous of her record player collection. There   
were “classics” like Mozart, Bach and Brahms, but I also spotted Frank Sinatra, Roy Orbinson, Bobby Darin and Eva Cassidy amongst them. 

And there was the record player. It looked old. Of course it did. She clearly likes her retro stuff. 

My gaze fell on a small suitcase lying on the coffee table. Is she leaving? My stomach tightened a little with disappointment. 

It would appear that she was. I scowled at the suitcase. I didn’t like the idea of her going away. But staring the suitcase down probably wouldn’t help, so I turned my back on the coffee table. My movements were angry, and my display of emotion resulted in me bumping my knee on the coffee table. 

“Damnit!” I hissed. Maybe that was my reward for staring angrily at the suitcase. 

I grabbed onto the edge of the table with one hand while I rubbed the sore spot on my knee with the other. The coffee table rocked slightly, and a soft thud told me that something had fallen onto the floor. 

I quickly bent down and scrabbled around for a moment to find whatever it was my clumsy accident had caused to fall on the floor. 

It turned out to be a calendar. An anonymous little black calendar lying spine up on the floor. I quickly grabbed it and glanced at the page. It didn’t give much away, just the name “Samuel” and the name   
of a hotel in Seattle. That wasn’t exactly strange. Greta had an appointment with a guy name Samuel, so what? 

But as I glanced at the previous date, there was a different name and location written down. I frowned slightly, and as I rose from my kneeling position on the floor I flipped through the calendar. 

Alistair, Andra hotel.   
Benjamin, Residence Inn by Marriott.  
Beatrice, La Quinta Inn.  
Charles, Motif.  
Charlotte, Belltown Inn.  
Edward, The Westin Seattle.  
Evelyn, MarQueen.   
George, Kimpton Hotel.  
Grace, Hampton Inn.  
Lawrence, Sheraton.  
Liz, Silver Cloud.  
Owen, Crowne Plaza.  
Olivia, The Loyal Inn.  
Robert, Hilton Inn.  
Theodore, Fairmont Olympic.  
Vincent, Warwick.

Sixteen names scattered all around in the calendar this month. Sixteen different people. Sixteen different hotels. Everything was neatly written down in alphabetical order. Greta seemingly insisted on keeping her calendar perfect as well.  
And that was only this month. As I flipped backwards, even more names presented themselves along with different locations. Never the same place twice, I noted. There were doppelgangers amongst the names, but never the same hotel twice.   
I flipped a few months backwards, and my confusion grew as I looked at the different names. And then I suddenly reached marked pages on my journey back in Greta’s calendar. She had marked an entire week and written “Rebecca, The Edgewater. Double." 

Okay, now I was really confused. Was this a work thing? Greta had said that her work consisted mostly of dinners with different clients, but I couldn’t get it to add up with all the different hotels. And the "double"-comment? What was that about? Something was off about it. I just didn’t know what. 

I weighed the calendar in my hand and flipped backwards again until I reached the beginning of the calendar. There was this standard “this calendar belongs to”-mark and I squinted as I looked at the written name. 

Alexandra. Alexandra. Not Greta Adams. Just Alexandra. 

Okay, what’s going on here? Why has she written a different name in the calendar? And what’s up with all the different names and hotels written in the calendar? I wouldn’t have found it weird if it hadn’t been for the fake name and the mysterious “Rebecca” she had spent a week with on The Edgewater Hotel (and the "double" remark) How many people spent a week on a hotel with their client? 

No one. 

Unless… The little, anonymous book suddenly felt heavy in my hand. Unless Greta was involved in something that a seventeen year old like me shouldn't know too much about.

I quickly replayed our conversation the previous night in my head. She had been a bit vague about her job, hadn’t she? Wouldn’t really tell me what she did for a living. “It variates a lot, but it involves lots of dinners with clients.” 

Dinners. Dinners. That’s what she had told me.

Suddenly, things started to make sense to me. 

Her comments about being street smart. Her amusement when I assumed the man she had been with was her boyfriend. The three different men I had seen her with. Even her stay at the hotel.

No, Greta had never told me what she did for a living. But I could put two and two together. And what term should she even have used? There isn’t exactly a polite word for being a..........

“I can’t figure out whether you’re very stubborn, very bold, or just incredibly stupid.” 

I yelped in surprise and dropped the book on the floor with a thud. I spun around so fast I almost tripped and bumped my knee on the coffee table a second time. 

Greta was standing right behind me, arms folded across her chest and a perfectly arched brow raised in disappointment. 

But that wasn’t what struck me. It was her appearance. Obviously, she had just showered, but she clearly had time to do her hair. It was perfect and bouncy as ever in those 1940 curls. And she was dressed in this knee length cream colored nightgown and a luxurious silk bathrobe so long it dragged behind her. That struck me as odd. This was the middle of the day. 

“Have no one taught you how dangerous it can be to poke around in other people’s business?” she asked and her ice blue eyes gleamed. 

She had every right to be pissed at me. I had uninvited barged into her home and then gone through her private stuff. I felt guilty as deserved, but I was also shocked over the discovery I had just made. 

I had expected the shock to seat in. I had expected to be utterly horrified at her, to put it mildly, unusual job. 

But the truth was, I was only partially shocked and guilty. The main thing my brain was focusing on, was how attracted I still was to her. God, she’s so beautiful. My dominating feeling was joy. Simply over seeing her again. 

“Give me that,” Greta said plainly.

I bent down and picked the calendar up again. I handed it to Greta. Our fingers connected very briefly, and I noted that her hands were cold again. 

“Have you snooped through the entire calendar?” she asked. 

I couldn’t exactly run from that, and I nodded, my cheeks lighting up crimson. 

Greta sighed gravely. “Then why are you still standing here, miss Welles? Still recovering from the shock, perhaps?” 

“No,” I squeaked. I felt completely flushed all over. My cheeks were burning. 

“Are you gonna call the police on me?” she inquired, dryly, but I was sure there was a faint whisper of amusement in her voice. “I can assure you, I’m not breaking any laws. Skirting it, perhaps, but not breaking it.” 

“Are you gonna strangle me to death?” I retorted, and I honestly have no idea where that boldness came from. Despite the faint trace of amusement in her voice she still looked rightfully pissed. I wouldn’t blame her if she wanted to strangle me.

She laughed throatily. “No, Miss Welles. Despite you breaking and entering and going through my private things, I’m not “gonna strangle you to death”, as you so eloquently put it.” 

“The door was unlocked,” I defended. “I didn’t break and enter.” 

“Was it?” Greta raised an eyebrow again as she stuffed the calendar away amongst her belongings in the suitcase. “Hmm. I must have forgotten to lock it.” 

It suddenly occurred to me that she hadn’t even tried to explain her “job” away. 

Isn’t she even gonna deny it? I raised an eyebrow, and I realized my mouth was still hanging open. I probably didn’t look very intelligent right now. 

“Care to explain to me what your errand here is?” Greta asked, and her curls bounced as she turned her head. 

“Uh…” my errand? What errand? Didn’t I just come here to look at her one last time? 

“Yes?” Greta encouraged. 

“My… shirt.” I said halfheartedly and wondered how many times this woman could fucking bluescreen my brain. “I left my hoodie here last night.” 

“Oh. Just a moment.” She turned her back on me and disappeared upstairs again. 

I was still trying to wrap my head around the discovery I had just made. How could it be possible? How could this ridiculously sophisticated woman choose this for a living? Or maybe she hadn’t chosen it? 

Has she been forced to… do what she does? What had driven her to do this? I had seen “Pretty Woman” and swooned when the rich Edward had fallen for the prostituted Vivian, but this wasn’t a movie. 

This was reality. And Greta wasn’t some “ugly duckling” like the character Julia Roberts had played. Greta oozed sophistication. That was what had drawn me towards her in the beginning. 

Why this? Why choose this when she could be just about anything else? 

I didn’t understand. 

A soft creak revealed that Greta was back, and when I looked up, she was holding my hoodie out towards me. 

“Thank you.” I muttered and outstretched a hand. 

“You look positively shocked, Miss Welles,” she said curtly as she gave me the hoodie. 

I settled for a nod. 

“Why?” Greta asked. “Why are you shocked?” 

“Because I didn’t…” I sucked in a breath. “I didn’t exactly expect you to be a….” 

“The correct term is Escort, miss Welles.” Greta interrupted. “And I wasn’t exactly planning on ever telling you, but here we are.” 

“I don’t understand,” I said.

”You’re very young,” Greta replied. As if that was the explanation for everything. 

“Please stop saying that.” I snapped. It only reminded me of last night. When she rejected me. 

She raised an eyebrow at my sudden outburst. But I wasn’t planning on apologizing. My head was swimming with questions, and I suddenly felt bold enough to ask one of them: “Is that why you rejected me last night?” 

“No.” Greta said shortly. “I rejected you because you’re seventeen years old.” 

“And so what?” I hissed and balled my hands into fists. “Didn’t you ever want something you couldn’t have when you were seventeen?!” 

A moment of silence followed my outburst. Greta once again folded her arms across her chest. Her perfectly sculped eyebrow raised once more and then she said: “Want”?” 

“What?” I said dumbly and blushed crimson. Want. Want. That was what I had said. God, you don’t ever learn to keep your mouth shut, Welles? Might as well stick your foot in your mouth. 

“And what exactly is it that you want from me, Miss Welles?” Greta asked, and her voice dropped dangerously.

“I…” brain bluescreened. Again. 

“Answers to all your million questions?” Greta suggested silkily. “Or perhaps something entirely else? Hmm? Is that it?” 

My legs turned to jelly, and my tongue dried up in my mouth. I couldn’t think. And I definitely couldn’t answer the question she had just asked me. 

“You’re stubborn,” Greta commented as she outstretched one of her long fingers and played with a lock of my hair. “And stubborn people irritates me, miss Welles.” 

I still couldn’t think. She’s too close. She’s standing too close. I want her closer. 

“And quite indecisive too, it would seem.” Greta continued. “And with the unfortunate habit of putting your nose where it doesn’t belong.” 

If this was an attempt at scolding me, it didn’t work as intended. 

“Why do I have the impression that you’ll keep hassling me?” Greta murmured as she continued to play with a lock of my hair. 

I would have paid a lot of money to get my body to do what I really wanted it to do right now, but I was unable to move from the spot. All the feelings I’d had yesterday when I had kissed her, flared up and turned into flickering flames in my belly. 

“I ought to throw you out of my home right now,” Greta said. “But something tells me that you would come back again and again…” 

I swallowed thickly. Her long manicured fingers left my hair and hovered over my cheek instead. I desperately wanted to lean into the touch, but I still couldn’t move. 

“What do you want, miss Welles?” Greta repeated. “Hmm? Do you want to kiss me again, is that it? Do you want to pretend you’re not a minor and completely in charge of what is happening?” 

“I was in charge of what was happening!” I protested. I could suddenly speak again. 

Greta chuckled. “Stealing a kiss from someone doesn’t automatically make you in charge of what’s happening.” 

“I was…” 

“Oh yes? Then why aren’t you acting right now, miss Welles? Why aren’t you taking what you really want?” 

My breath hitched in my throat and something coiled in my belly. 

Greta laughed again. “I thought so. Make no mistake, miss Welles. I’m always in charge. You simply don’t have what it….”

“Stop mocking me!” I hissed and felt my temper boil. She knew exactly how to push my buttons. In every way. 

She chuckled throatily. “Arguing is so very childish, miss Welles.” 

“Shut up!” Now I was angry. Angry that she mocked me, angry that I had found that stupid book, angry that she had rejected me last night. I didn’t know how it came to pass, but suddenly my hands were on her shoulders, and I didn’t feel entirely sure what my intentions were. 

And I didn’t find out either. Greta laughed again as she effortlessly slinked out of my grasp. “If you’re so in charge over your actions, why don’t we test it instead of arguing, hmm?”

I hesitated with one hand still outstretched towards her. 

“Hotel Ballard. Room 213. That’s where I’ll be tomorrow night.” Greta said as she adjusted her robe slightly. 

My mouth felt as dry as a desert again, but I still opened it to say something. 

“Now leave,” Greta said and interrupted my weak attempts at saying something. “I don’t have time to deal with you right now.” She turned her back on me. 

I literally didn’t know what to say. How to react. So, I ended up stumbling out of the houseboat.

What the hell just happened? I wondered as I wobbled back to the buss stop. One minute we’re arguing, and the next she’s suddenly telling me where she’s gonna be tomorrow night. What the hell am I supposed to do with that piece of information? 

I stopped abruptly in my tracks and ignored the annoyed mutters from the guy behind me. 

You’re gonna show up. That’s what you’re gonna do with that piece of information. You’re gonna let her know you’re not some dumb kid who…. 

My pace became faster and more determined as I continued my walk back to the busstop.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where things turns "mature". This chapter contains graphic descriptions of sex between two consensual women.

Hotel Ballard.

Room 213.

I don’t know how I got through that night. My mind kept swirling around Greta and her challenge. 

Because I didn’t for one moment doubt that it was a challenge. A test. Sarcastic words spewed out in the heat of the moment. 

I kept wondering why I hadn’t kissed her. Had I been too afraid to do it? 

No, I wasn’t afraid of Greta. I had been irritated because she kept taunting me, but not afraid. 

And I still found her unusual job puzzling. And the fact that she didn’t even try and deny it even more puzzling. I had thought she would have tried to explain “Alexandra” calendar away. 

But she hadn’t. She had scolded me for snooping and been angry instead. 

And of course, she had been in her full right to do so, I had been the one barging into her home, but still, I kept wondering. She had seemed so different last night. More… dangerous, in lack of better   
words. She had still been this refined, sophisticated woman I had become fascinated with in the first place, but there had been something different about her last night. 

Oh yes, I wondered as I lied awake. Who did I argue with last night? Greta or Alexandra? 

I couldn’t be certain, but I had a distinct feeling that the woman taunting and teasing me last night had been Alexandra and not Greta. 

Is she like that with her “clients”? Jesus Christ…

My mind kept spinning in all directions, thanks to Greta/Alexandra I couldn’t find my calm place, and it was almost four in the morning before I finally fell into this death like sleep and dreamt of the   
angry, beautiful woman in the houseboat. 

 

The following morning wasn’t much better. I walked around in a zombie like state and had to pinch myself several times to make sure I was actually awake. And then I searched my brain to make sure last night had actually happened and wasn’t just a strange figment of my imagination. 

But after searching my brain thoroughly I was certain that last night had in fact happened. 

Hotel Ballard. 

Room 213. 

Damn her, I thought to myself as my mouth went dry right in the middle of breakfast. Damn Greta and her taunting words. Damn Alexandra and her stupid calendar. I was getting irritated all over again. I was not some kid she could push around and tease for the sake of her own amusement. She couldn’t just kiss me back and then tell me that it wasn’t a good idea and then proceed to verbally throw me   
out of her car. 

She couldn’t just tell me the name of her hotel and which room she would stay in and then tell me to get lost. It wasn’t fair. 

What was she expecting? That her words had scared me, and I wouldn’t show up tonight? 

Think again. I mean, what’s the worse thing that can happen? That she’ll kick me out again? 

No, I wasn’t gonna let her do that. Not tonight. Tonight I was gonna give this infuriating woman I piece of my mind. She had no right to toy with me like she had done the past two days, and I was gonna   
let her know that. 

I finished my breakfast and decided to head down to the gym. Maybe it would take my mind of things for a while. 

But punching a bag didn’t exactly help. If anything it just made my anger grow. And I didn’t even know why I was angry anymore. Was it because I had kissed her, and she had rejected me? Because she   
had taunted me? Or was it because she was older and therefore unobtainable? 

Or was it in fact because I had discovered what she did for a living? Was that what made me angry? Was I upset because Greta was an… Escort? 

And if that was the case, what business did I have being angry because of that? It was none of my business. 

Except it was. I was already too involved. 

I gave up on finding the reason. Instead I turned my attention back to the punching bag in front of me. 

If I kept thinking, my mind would explode.

 

I don’t know how I made it through that day either. 

Something had shifted inside me by the time I got back from the gym. 

The irrational anger was starting to fade, and instead I felt…. Starving.

And not the traditional kind of starving. 

No, I was starving to see Greta or Alexandra or whatever the fuck she called herself. I was overwhelmed by the desire to see her again. To inhale her perfume. To be near her. To touch her. 

Yes, I was still annoyed, and yes, I still wanted answers to why she let me kiss her and then rejected me. Why she taunted me and pushed my buttons. And why she chose this profession.

But my annoyance was almost clouded at how much I wanted to see her again. How much I needed to see her again. 

I had never experienced this kind of attraction before. At least not like this. Not so strong. It felt like an invisible fire was burning me, and I didn’t know what to do with that fire. 

And more importantly, I didn’t know what to do with myself either. I felt lightheaded. Beside myself. 

I could barely recognize myself when I glanced at my reflection in the mirror. My doe eyes were even bigger than unusual, and my cheeks were rosy. 

At one point, I was fairly certain my phone was ringing, but I felt incapable of taking the call. Hannah would have to leave a message instead. 

As soon as it stopped ringing, I sent a group text to Hannah, Michelle and Allen, explaining that I didn’t feel very good. Which was partially true. I definitely felt weird. 

It didn’t take long before I heard back from Allen. He was sweet and hoped I felt better really soon. 

His message left me with a foul taste in my mouth. Only a month ago, his message would have made me smile, but now I felt… Blank. Empty. And with surprisingly little emotions left for the guy I once   
wanted to move to New York. 

And it made me sick. It was so unfair. What I was doing to Allen was so unfair. 

I knew that technically, I had done very little. It was just a kiss. It had just been a kiss. Nothing more. 

It was what I was thinking that made me an absolute monster. 

I had the sweetest boyfriend in the world. And I was dreaming about something, someone so forbidden I could barely stand looking at myself in the mirror.

But suppressing my feelings wasn’t gonna work. Not this time. 

The situation was impossible, but I knew one thing for sure. 

If I stayed home tonight, I would regret it forever. 

Suddenly the day went by and the fog rolled over Seattle as the city darkened. 

It was crazy. Absolute madness. But suddenly I found myself on Mercer St & Queen Anne Ave, waiting for the bus. 

Had I finally gone mad? Was I finally loosing it? I think there’s a pretty good chance I might be going insane, I thought to myself as the bus pulled up in front of me and I hopped on. 

What am I even doing? I honestly didn’t know anymore. I just knew that I had to see Greta again. Consequences be damned. She was calling out to me like a siren, and I felt like a puppet on a string as I   
looked out at Seattle through the window. 

I didn’t know what would happen when I saw her again. I couldn’t be certain my indignation wouldn’t flare up again. Right now I felt completely on edge over doing something like this. Something so   
crazy. But who knew, maybe seeing her would make me irritated all over again. 

Yesterday evening, I had been determined to show up and give her a piece of my mind. Inform her that I wasn’t just some kid she could toy with.

But now….

Now I wasn’t so sure anymore. 

I wasn’t sure anger would be my first impulse when I saw her again. 

God, Celine, maybe you ARE out of your mind. Maybe you ARE losing it. 

Maybe I was. Maybe this was all some sick, twisted dream my insomniac plagued mind had come up with. 

But deep down I knew it wasn’t. I could write some pretty decent stories, but I would definitely never be creative enough to imagine Greta. No, she had to be real. 

The bus came to a halt, and as in some sort of trance I left it. I was back on the street again. I hadn’t spent much time in this particular part of Seattle, and my state of mind made me even more confused   
than I usually was. I had to stop and type in “Hotel Ballard” on my phone and get directions. 

After being let astray and walking to the left instead of right, I finally found the right path. 

And I found Hotel Ballard too. It looked very… Posh. A bit like Fairmont Olympic. Shit, this place is probably expensive as fuck. I suddenly came to wonder if I could just… walk in. Or would the staff find   
that suspiciously? An undressed teenage girl walking into a posh hotel. Maybe they would think I was a trouble maker or something like that. 

I remembered Greta’s half-serious comment about me telling the police about her. Maybe she was counting on the police coming for me. Maybe she was hoping that would happen. 

Well, that would be a fine way to be rid of me once and for all, for my mother would most definitely kill me if she found out the police had escorted me home from a high end hotel. 

I snorted as I crossed the street and walked towards the hotel. It was well lit up and the lobby was full of people. Maybe no one would notice if I just…

As discreet as a thief in the night I slipped inside the lobby. No one looked up at my arrival. Not even the hotel clerk behind the desk saw me. He was far too busy sucking up to a guy in something that   
looked like a very expensive suit. I didn’t know much about how much a suit costs, but I was pretty certain I would have to sell my soul to Satan in order to afford the suit that guy was wearing. 

Okay, Welles. What’s next? Now I was inside the hotel. The hardest part was done. Now I “just” had to find room 213. Wherever that might be. 

I pushed the button to summon the elevator, and it didn’t take long before the elevator doors slid open with a low wrr. I almost felt spooked as I went inside the elevator. It was completely empty. Under normal circumstances, I would have appreciated that, but right now it felt ominous. Creepy. 

Where is everybody? I wondered. Is there another conference? 

Very helpfully, the room numbers had been written next to the different floor numbers, so finding the right floor wasn’t that much of a problem. 

It was the walk down the hall that was difficult. My legs had turned into jelly, and my brain was having way too much fun with digging every accidental touch between me and Greta out. The way she had   
held my hand during my panic attack. The way she had grabbed my arm when I almost fell in the bus. The way she had played with my hair. The way she had kissed me two nights ago. Something coiled in   
my stomach at that particular memory, and for a moment I was almost certain I could smell her perfume. 

Room 250. I had walked too far. I quickly spun around on my heels and walked in the opposite direction. 249, 248, 247… 

Trot, trot, trot. Down the hallway. 230… 220….215.

213\. I stopped abruptly. I had reached the right room. 

Now all I needed to do was to knock on the door. Literally, I just had to raise my hand and knock.

And for some reason, I found that to be incredibly hard. Mainly because all of my otherwise well-functioning muscles had been liquified. Turned into jelly. Spaghetti. 

Jesus, Celine. Pull yourself together. Woman up or whatever the hell people call it. 

I sucked in a breath, raised my hand and tapped my fist quietly against the door. I wasn’t interested in making too much noise. It would only draw attention to me. And I didn’t want that.

Especially not if this is some sort of sick prank, I thought to myself as I waited. There was absolutely quiet inside the room. I could hear no approaching footsteps or any other movements in there. 

Maybe she’s not even there… Maybe she’s just trying to mess with you again. 

The thought of that filled my stomach with cold fear and heavy disappointment. And I could suddenly feel my muscles again. They felt heavy. Like they had been replaced with lead.

I felt tempted to knock a second time but decided not to. I didn’t want to stand here and knock on the door like a damned fool. I slowly lowered my hand. She isn’t here. She tricked me, I realized. And I   
was stupid enough to fall for it. You idiot. 

Disappointment burned in my stomach as I turned around and prepared myself for venturing out in the foggy Seattle night again. 

Idiot. Idiot, idiot, idiot. How could you actually believe that…...

The door was opened behind me, and I spun around so fast I almost tripped over my own feet. 

Greta was standing on the threshold, and much like last time she was dressed in a long silk bathrobe and a thin nightgown. 

“Miss Welles?” she said, surprise seeping through her words. 

But I couldn’t say anything. The sight of her made me feel dizzy, and now my stomach was burning for entirely different reasons. 

“What are you doing here?” Greta asked and raised an eyebrow. 

“You invited me.” I said lamely. 

“I don’t think I did, miss Welles.” Greta said. “Yes, I might have told you where I would be, but I never expected you to…” 

I felt that anger rearing its ugly head again. She had assumed I wasn’t gonna show. She thought she had scared me away. 

“Well, here I am.” I said. I sounded way more confident than I felt. I actually feared she would slam the door in my face. 

“Yes, here you are,” Greta said calmly. “Quite the journey from Queen Anne.” 

She was right about that. The bus ride to get here was thirty two minutes. Walking included. 

“Are you gonna let me in or what?” I asked. I was still irritated at her assumption. 

Her eyebrows rose again but she stepped aside and let me into the hotel room. 

I didn’t need to look around for long to realize that this was a suite. The room was luxurious in every way, but that wasn’t what I noticed first. It was the bed. It was made. Either the maid had been here   
and tidied up the room, or no one had been sleeping in the bed. 

So, she hasn’t been tumbling around in the bed with her client? 

“What do you want?” Greta asked plainly as she locked the door. 

“You asked me to come.” 

“No, I did not, miss Welles. I simply told you where I would be. Coming here was entirely up to you.” Greta corrected. “So, what do you want?” 

“I…” the way she twisted her words made me dizzy. 

“Yes?” Greta said. “Do spit it out, miss Welles. I don’t have all night.” 

“Why do you keep calling me miss Welles?” I blurted out. “I asked you to call me Celine.” 

A perfectly sculped eyebrow rose again. “Is that why you’re here? To ask me why I call you miss Welles? Quite the journey to take just for that.” 

I hadn’t even been in this room for a minute, and she was already taking over. If I wanted to say something, I should probably do it now. 

“I should be angry at you, not the other way around.” I said. 

“And why is that?” 

“You treated me as a child the last time.” 

“No, I didn’t,” Greta said and brushed a curl behind her ear. “I pointed out that you are very young, which is true, isn’t it?” 

I glared at her. She was still twisting the words. 

“But I don’t think I at any point called you a child.” 

“You implied that I wasn’t in charge of my actions.” 

“And you’ve proved me wrong by coming here tonight, didn’t you?” Greta said smoothly. 

“Were you testing me?” 

“No. I didn’t think you were gonna show.” 

“And now that I’m here,” I said, and my mouth went dry again. “What are you planning on doing?” 

“Calling you a fool for starters.” Greta said plainly. “I stand by what I said last time. You’ll keep hassling me.” 

“And why am I a fool for hassling you?” I asked and my voice broke. My palms were sweaty, and my breath was quickening. 

“That should be fairly obvious by now, miss Welles.” 

Maybe it was obvious. Maybe I should care more about Greta’s age and what she was doing for a living and stop caring about the way she looked at me with her ice blue eyes. The way the robe she was   
wearing was sliding down her shoulder as she took a step forward. 

“You shouldn’t have come here, you silly girl.” Greta murmured.

“Then ask me to leave,” I challenged. 

“Would you want me to do that?” she asked. “And more importantly, would you actually do as I asked?” 

“No.” 

“Then what do you want, miss Welles?” Greta inquired. She was so close I could touch her if I wanted. 

And that was exactly what I wanted. To touch her. I reached out and wanted to brush my fingertips against her cheek, but she caught my hand swiftly. 

“It can’t mean anything,” she warned me. “What happens in this room stays in this room.” 

“I don’t care.” Right now I didn’t care about anything. I just had to touch her. I needed to. 

She suddenly grasped my chin and looked me square in the eyes. “You shouldn’t have come here tonight, Celine.”

“Then throw me out of the room,” I challenged like I had done a moment ago.

She didn’t. Instead she kissed me. Harshly and fiercely and I almost stumbled backwards but I didn’t care. Greta was kissing me. Nothing else mattered. 

And this kiss was nothing like our previous kiss. It was almost like she was trying to prove a point. Like if she kissed me angrily enough, I would get spooked and leave her alone.

But I didn’t care one bit about the kiss being angry. I willingly opened my mouth for her. If anything, her attempts had the opposite effect. 

And it seemed like she finally picked up on that. Her tongue ceased the battle with mine and the kiss suddenly became more tender when her hands slid up and cupped my cheeks. 

I wrapped my arms around her, desperate to have her closer to me, and I could feel her stiffen for a second. Maybe she wasn’t used to that. What was it she said the last time? Oh right, “I’m always in   
charge”. 

Her long fingers locked in my hair and it was possible that my attempt at holding her had spurred her to remind me who was in charge. 

I didn’t care about that. She could be as much in charge as she wanted to. I felt lightheaded. Almost like I was gonna faint. But I refused to let that happen. Not as long as I had something to hold on to. 

“Greta…” I whispered as I briefly pulled away to catch my breath. 

“No. Alexandra,” she quickly corrected. “Within these walls I’m Alexandra. Is that understood?” 

I nodded. Right now, I was prepared to agree to just about anything really. 

Our kiss had ended but her hands were still roaming over my body. She tugged at zipper in my leather jacket and unzipped it. With quick motions she slid the jacket down my arms and it landed on the   
floor with a soft thud. 

I shivered. I was only wearing a thin tanktop underneath, and the room wasn’t particularly warm. 

“Is this what you want, Celine?” Alexandra asked. 

“Yes,” I whispered, and my voice broke again. 

“You’re a fool,” she said softly.

I didn’t get a chance to argue with that. Within seconds, her hands were on my hips and she kissed me again. I grew bolder in my touches and did what I had wanted to do for quite a while now. Bury my   
fingers in her curls. Her hair was so soft. Softer than I could ever have imagined. And her perfume. The smell was intoxicating me. 

What are you doing to me? I silently asked her as she slowly guided me backwards until I could feel the back of my knees touch the bed. 

Alexandra gave me a slight nudge, and my body was so liquefied by now, I simply fell backwards onto the bed. 

She flashed me something that could have been a smile as she positioned herself on top of me with one hand on either side of me. 

“Have you ever been with a woman, Celine?” she asked plainly. Like she was asking me about the weather.

“N-no,” I whispered. My cheeks flushed.

She raised an eyebrow. “Have you ever been with anyone? Otherwise this might…” 

“I have,” I quickly said. “I have been with… someone.” 

Her eyebrow rose further at that. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. My tone heavily implied how disappointing I had found my previous sexual encounters. 

“Well then,” Alexandra said as she dipped down to kiss me once more. 

I returned the kiss and was consumed in the sensation of her lips against mine when something made me gasp into the kiss. Her hands were no longer on either side of me. Instead they were on my body.   
More specifically on my breasts. 

I swallowed thickly. Her chestnut curls was tickling me. My body was already responding to her touches, and in ways I had never imagined before. 

“Just go with it, honey.” Alexandra murmured. “Close your eyes.” 

I did. That’s how much I trusted this woman I knew so little about. 

Her perfectly coiffed hair tickled me again as she kissed me. This time just below my ear. 

My stomach tightened dangerously at that. “G…Alexandra,” I muttered. 

“Shh,” she soothed as she trailed kisses down my neck and to the top of my chest. 

I wasn’t sure her attempts at hushing me were genuine, and either way I couldn’t keep quiet. My lips were spilling sounds I didn’t know they were capable of. 

Suddenly, Alexandra’s warm mouth disappeared, and I was just about to protest when I felt her rucking my shoes off and dumping them on the floor. 

Her soft hair tickled me again as she gave my jaw another soft kiss. 

I wanted to see her. I opened my eyes again and looked up at her. She looked quite serious as she toyed with the straps on my tanktop, and I found myself wishing that she would smile at me. Just once. 

But Alexandra didn’t smile. She remained serious as she freed my tanktop from the waistband of my jeans and lifted it. 

My breath hitched again. 

“Is this okay?” she asked as she bared my stomach. 

“Y-yeah.” 

“Good.” She rucked my tanktop up the rest of the way. “Raise your arms.” 

I did as she asked, and Alexandra pulled the shirt over my head. Suddenly I wished I had worn a nicer bra. But how was I possibly to know that this would happen? 

“Goosebumps,” she commented as she brushed her fingers over my ribcage. 

“Your hands are a bit cold,” I muttered in response. 

“Wearing gloves right now would be quite… impractical,” Alexandra said as she did the button in my jeans and unzipped them. 

I swallowed again and was certain my heart was pounding with a thousand kilometers as I raised slightly to help her as she slid my jeans down. When they pooled by my feet, Alexandra rucked them off   
and another soft thud told me that they had ended up on the floor. 

Alexandra took my hand and helped me into this sitting position where I was sitting on my knees and my heels were tucked under my bottom. 

I barely got the chance to wonder about this sudden shift before she suddenly was sitting behind me. She kissed my neck and I couldn’t quite stop my head from rolling back against her. 

“I don’t know what to make of you, miss Welles,” Alexandra murmured as she unclasped my bra and slid the straps down my shoulders. 

And I didn’t know what to make of that comment. All I knew was that she had just removed my bra, and oh god, her hand was sliding up my front. 

“Fuck!” I gasped when she cupped my breast. 

“Language,” she admonished, and I almost chuckled because was this really the time to correct my language? 

But language lesson aside, her hands were still on my breasts, and the way she was touching me felt better than anything I had ever tried before. I suddenly knew why I had allowed myself to become   
addicted to her in the first place. 

I didn’t quite understand this particular position though. With her behind me, I couldn’t see her. And that was a problem. A huge problem. Feeling her caress me wasn’t enough. I had to see her. No, I   
needed to see her. 

“I want to see you,” I breathed out and gasped sharply when her finger zeroed in on my nipple. 

“Why?” she asked plainly. 

“Because… Because… You’re beautiful,” I babbled. I didn’t know what I was saying anymore. 

Alexandra laughed throatily at that. “I chose this position specifically because I thought you were shy, miss Welles. But perhaps that’s not the case?” 

“No.” right now I couldn’t remember whether I was shy or not. I just wanted to see her. 

She laughed again. “Oh, well that makes a nice change.” 

“What does?” 

“Lack of shyness,” Alexandra said plainly as she swiftly moved so she was in front of me instead. 

And suddenly, I did feel shy. Instinctively, I raised my arms to cover my chest. There was just something about the way she was looking at me, that made me feel the need to cover myself.

Her ice blue eyes were marking every inch of my body, and I felt another wave of blush rise in my cheeks. 

“So, you are shy after all,” Alexandra said, and I was half-certain she was mocking me in the sweetest way possible. 

“But you have nothing to be shy about,” she continued as she slowly cupped my elbows and drew my arms away from my chest. “You’re beautiful too.” 

Of course that only made me blush even harder. 

She dipped down and kissed my neck again and her hands slid down and resumed their position. 

I moaned at that. The hotel room was spinning, I was sure of that. It couldn’t be something I imagined. The room was definitely spinning. And with every stroke of her fingers, Alexandra was awakening   
something buried deep in the pit of my stomach. Something that felt like flames burning me and made my back arch off the bed and my head loll back. 

“A-Alexandra…” I gasped. 

Her lips immediately came up to cover my mouth and she robbed me of every moan spilling from my lips. 

She might have taken my voice, but there was little she could do about the way my fingers clutched at her back and the way my lower body wriggled in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure I was   
currently feeling. 

When my lungs were burning from sheer lack of oxygen, she released my lips. Her hand travelled down my body. Trailed over my ribs, drew a lazy pattern on my stomach, and then, once the reached the   
waistband of my panties, she stopped. 

I stopped too. Stopped breathing. I was burning all over and the tingles in my belly had evolved into something much more… pressing. Something that needed relieve immediately. 

“Tell me what you want, miss Welles.” Alexandra murmured. 

But I couldn’t. I couldn’t find my voice right now and I had to wiggle my hips instead. 

And she seemed to understand exactly what I meant. Her fingers hooked around the waistband of my panties and I tried to breathe as she slid them down my legs. 

Oh god, oh god, oh god. I so wanted to keep looking at her. But I wasn’t brave enough. I had to close my eyes. 

“Is this what you want?” Alexandra asked, and the way her voice had suddenly dropped an octave almost made me burn up right then and there. 

“Y-yes!” I hissed. 

“I can’t decide whether you’re incredibly bold or incredibly stupid,” she said and echoed her own words. 

I didn’t care about her indecisiveness about what I was or wasn’t. I didn’t care about anything. The only thing that mattered right now was the way her fingers stroked between my legs. 

I grabbed the sheets underneath me. I so wished she would come up here, so I could hold on to her again, and when I told her that, she let out this little noise of amusement. 

“I suppose you’ll need something to hold on to,” she mused as she complied. 

My hands immediately ended up flat against her back. She kept stroking between my legs and I felt myself getting closer to some sort of high I had only gotten a taste of in the past. 

“Oh god!” I moaned. “Alexandra!” the name she had asked me to call her, for some reason came very easily to me. 

That was when I felt her fingers slightly lower. My eyes immediately snapped open and my stomach muscles tightened. 

“Don’t strain,” Alexandra said and sounded gentler than she had done this entire evening. “It’ll hurt if you strain. Try and relax for me. Deep breaths.” 

I did as she instructed and took a few deep breaths. I sucked the air all the way down into my stomach and felt how my muscles slowly started to relax. 

“That’s it,” Alexandra soothed. “Just relax. Close your eyes.” 

Once again, I did as she asked, and the tiniest moan escaped me when I felt her slide two fingers into me. With absolutely no resistance. I was wetter than I had ever been.

Alexandra kissed my cheek, my chin, my jaw. Down my neck. Pecked my lips again. Kissed a new pattern from my neck and all the way down to my right breast, and with each kiss I felt myself getting   
more and more relaxed. And as I started to relax, I found myself able to focus on how good what she was doing to me, felt. She was barely moving her fingers and yet I found my hips to hum along to the   
tone she was playing inside of me. 

“…Alexandra!” I moaned. Now I was straining for entirely different reasons, but it didn’t hurt. My eyes were closed, but everything was bright red behind my eyelids. There was a fire starting deep within   
me, and I couldn’t tell whether I wanted “Alexandra” to put out the fire or add more gasoline. 

Alexandra knew. Her fingers curled slightly, and something shifted completely inside me as my back arched almost painfully off the bed. I wanted to yell and scream and thrash around in the bed, but I   
couldn’t. She had successfully robbed me of my voice and the only thing I could do was pressing my palm flatly against her back. 

Suddenly, I felt her other hand peel mine off her back. I quickly took the hint and squeezed her hand tightly as pleasure rippled through me. My body was burning for her, because of her, and I was sure I was squeezing her hand too tightly, but I couldn’t let go of her. Not yet. 

I don’t know how long I squeezed her hand. One moment every never in my body was tingling and my abdomen straining, and the next second, I felt her withdraw her fingers and I melted back against the mattress. 

There were so many things I wanted to say to her. For starters, I wanted to protest because she was wiggling her hand out of my grasp. And then I wanted to complain and tell myself off because while I was naked, Alexandra was still fully dressed, and I suspected her hair still looked perfect. 

She had asked me to take what I wanted. 

And I hadn’t. Instead I had let her play me like a violin. 

And now I couldn’t protest or complain because my body felt heavy and my eyelids were drooping. 

I didn’t want to sleep, but I had very little to say in the matter. 

I was falling asleep, but I still managed a meek: “Please don’t leave.” 

I never heard Alexandra’s answer………


	17. Chapter Seventeen

My first impulse when I woke up was confusion. Where the hell am I? This certainly didn’t look like my room. The pillow was too soft and the duvet too heavy. And the walls were white and not soft purple like mine. 

I blinked a few times in an attempt to get things to make sense. 

And then I remembered. 

Remembered what had happened last night. 

My mouth went dry all over again and I had to swallow something. 

Right. That happened. I raised my head slightly. My clothes were still lying on the floor. 

I felt dizzy all over again. Last night had actually happened. I had actually slept with Gre…No, Alexandra. It wasn’t just some dream. My state of nudity, the slight ache between my legs and the stickiness there were a reminder of that. 

I rubbed my eyes and brushed wisps of blonde hair away from my face. I probably looked like a mess. At least my hair looked like a haystack. I was sure of that. 

I rolled on to my back and pulled the covers up to my chest. The duvet must have slipped sometime during the night. 

I was still trying wrap my head around what had happened last night when I suddenly realized that I wasn’t alone in the hotel room. 

Greta- or was it still Alexandra? – was sitting in front of the vanity and brushing her chestnut curls. She was sparing me no second glances, but she had stayed. That made me happy. I wondered where   
she had slept? Next to me? No, I would have felt that, wouldn’t I? 

I immediately noticed that she had changed clothes. She was no longer wearing the nightgown and silk robe I had seen last night. Instead she was wearing a pair of black dress pants, a white button down blouse and a black blazer with incredibly sharp shoulders. She looked as beautiful as she did last night, but also different. Like she was trying to appear of as grown and mature as possible. Like she wanted to remind me of all the reasons why this couldn’t happen again. 

Something heavy landed in my stomach. What happens in this room, stays in this room. That’s what she said last night, right? And she was clearly still standing by that statement. 

“Good morning,” I said lamely. I didn’t know what else to say. 

“You’re awake.” She said and looked at me in the mirror. 

“Do you know what time it is?” I muttered and tried to both keep the covers where they were and scrabbling for my clothes. 

“Nine thirty.” Alexandra said. 

“Okay.” So not that late, but still I should probably… with one hand I held on to the covers and with the other I grabbed after my jeans. 

Alexandra made a little sound in the back of her throat. “Miss Welles, may I ask what on earth you’re doing?” 

“I’m trying to…” I gestured with one hand after my clothes. 

“I’ve already seen your body last night. What’s the point in hiding it now?” Alexandra said dully. 

I guess she has a point there. I released my grip on the covers and used both hands to find my tanktop on the floor. Once again, I was naked while she was fully dressed. I didn’t have words to express how much I regretted that I didn’t do anything to remove her clothes last night. 

The question is, would she have let me? The most obvious answer was “no”. For some reason, I couldn’t imagine her letting me take control over anything. 

I pulled the tanktop over my head and fished my phone out of my jeans pocket. And when I looked at the display, my mouth felt dry for entirely new reasons. 

All the sweet messages from Allen made me feel sick. Not because of the content of the messages, but because of myself. What I had done to him was so, so unfair. The lowest anyone could do. 

And what made it even worse was that I didn’t regret what had happened last night. I was still re-living the way Alexandra had touched me, how she had kissed me. The way she had made my body light up like a torch. 

“I only have this room for another hour. I suggest you take a shower, miss Welles.” 

Alexandra’s voice made me snap out of my thoughts and I quickly gathered my clothes and slipped past her into the bathroom. 

The bathroom was ridiculous. Really, it was too fucking big. Marble floor and chandelier. And there was this enormous bathtub in the middle of the room. As I walked past it to head into the shower, I   
noticed that the inside of the bathtub was still slightly wet. It would appear that Alessandra had taken a bath earlier. 

I pulled my tanktop over my head again and stepped into the shower. This was probably the fastest shower I had ever taken, but I was terrified to find Alexandra gone when I returned to the room. 

I had never dried myself off or gotten dressed so fast either. My jeans felt uncomfortable, and my white tanktop clung to me in a most unflattering way. Not to mention the way the fabric became see   
through because I hadn’t bothered to dry myself completely. My bra was very much showing, but I didn’t care. I was gonna wear my leather jacket anyway. It didn’t matter. 

And Alexandra was still there when I returned from the bathroom. She had finished brushing her hair and was now in the process of applying a new layer of lipstick. 

I shifted my weight from one leg to the other. I honestly didn’t know what to do right now. Maybe I should just leave? 

After a moment, Alexandra put the lipstick down on the vanity. She glanced at me briefly and then she said: “There’s a mark on your neck.” 

“Uhh…” I looked down. She was right. There was indeed a “mark” on my neck. And I was sure the correct term for this particular mark was “hickey.” 

I grabbed my leather jacket and shrugged it on in an attempt to hide the mark, but honestly it didn’t help much. 

Alexandra scoffed as she rose from the chair in front of the vanity. “That thing isn’t gonna hide anything. Come here.” 

I shuffled over to her and sat down on the instructed chair. Alexandra opened her purse and found about a million little different boxes with makeup products. Then she grabbed a cotton swab, dunked it   
into what looked like concealer and then carefully dabbed it over my skin, just below my ear. I found my stomach to flip flop like it had done yesterday. She was towering above me, and I briefly wondered   
how many inches her heels were.

“You’re wearing a different perfume,” I suddenly noticed. I already knew the Black Opium smell by heart. 

“Yes, I am.” Alexandra said plainly and screwed the lit of another bottle. Then she applied something new to my neck. 

“Which one?” I asked. I wasn’t sure when I could get a new possibility to talk to her. I had to take what I could get. 

“Coco Noir.” 

“Coco as in Chanel?” I guessed. 

“Precisely.” 

I inhaled discreetly. I could smell grapefruit. Grapefruit and… rose? Yes, definitely rose. And jasmine and something citrus-ish. Mmm. Amazing. But there was something else too, and I couldn’t quite figure out what is what.

“What’s the last scent?” I asked curiously. “I can smell grapefruit and rose and jasmine and something citrus like, but there’s something else too.” 

“Indonesian Patchouli,” Alexandra replied. 

“Oh.” I couldn’t think of any other response to that. Mostly because it wasn’t perfume I wanted to talk about. I wanted to talk about her. I wanted to know everything about her. I wanted to know why she   
chose to become an Escort. There were so many things I wanted to know. 

“Can I ask you something?” I said as she dabbed a new product over the mark on my neck. 

“Yes.” 

“How… How old are you?” I asked. That was something I had thought about for a while. She looked ageless. Timeless. 

My question was met with a raised eyebrow. “Don’t you know it’s rude to ask a lady of her age?” Alexandra said. 

My gaze dropped to the floor. I had heard that saying before. 

My coyness clearly amused Alexandra and she laughed throatily. “How old do you think I am?” she challenged. 

I looked up and studied her face. Her sharp jawline. Her high cheekbones. Her mouth, her full, plump lips and the way they pouted ever so slightly. Her ice blue eyes and her perfectly shaped eyebrows. 

“I’m not sure,” I finally answered. There was no way of terminating her age. 

“Guess,” she challenged and dabbed a cloth over the now covered up mark on my neck. 

“Thirty?” I said hesitantly.

Alexandra laughed again. “You’re too kind.” 

“Thirty one? Thirty two?” 

“I am thirty four,” she said.

“Okay.” 

Now I knew her age. That was one thing. But there was so many other things I wanted to know, like…

“Did you really not expect me last night?” I inquired.

“No, I did not. There. All done.” She said as she packed her many, many makeup equipment’s away. 

I frowned. “If you didn’t expect me last night, then why this hotel room?”

“I never invite my clients into my private home, miss Welles.” 

“I’m not your…” 

She interrupted me. “I was expecting someone else last night, but she must have gotten cold feet.”

“She?” I echoed. 

“Don’t be naïve, miss Welles.” Alexandra half-snipped. “You saw my calendar. You know I have female clients too.” 

“Isn’t that…. Uncommon?” I asked.

“Possibly. But I don’t see why I shouldn’t offer my services to women as well as men,” Alexandra said and packed her hairbrush away. 

My services. I cringed. She made it sound so… Business like. 

“You’d be surprised at how many lonely women there is in Seattle.” Alexandra continued and reached under the bed. I didn’t even know she had a suitcase ready. 

“Why do you do it?” 

“Why do I do what?” 

“Escort.” I muttered. 

“I’m good at it,” Alexandra smirked with a glint in her eyes. “I’m good at knowing what it takes to make someone happy.”

I grimaced slightly as I rose from the chair.

Alexandra reached up and adjusted a curl slightly. “Do you remember you once asked me if I were a psychiatrist?” 

I nodded.

“And do you remember my answer?”

“Uh-huh. That you weren’t an authorized one.” 

“And that’s true,” Alexandra said. “Escort isn’t necessarily about sex every time. The people who hire me, often want someone to talk to. Someone who listens and pay attention to them. Someone to dine   
with.” 

I raised an eyebrow. Maybe I was naïve, but I had always assumed that escort was only about one thing. “So, you don’t always…?” 

“No.” Alexandra said. “Sometimes the only thing that happens is that I go out, have a lovely dinner with my client, chat with them for a while and then ends the night with a goodnight kiss.” 

“That sounds like a normal date.” 

“And in many ways, it is.” 

“Who are they?” I asked, intrigued to know more. “Who are the people who hire you?”

She raised an eyebrow. “If I hadn’t stripped you naked last night, I would ask whether you’re wearing a microphone.” 

I blushed. 

“Why so many questions? Project for school perhaps?” 

“No,” I protested and felt my temper rear its head. “I’m just….” 

“Curious. I know.” Alexandra dully finished the sentence. “The people who request my company are typically people in power positions. Lawyers. Doctors. Financial managers.” She weighed the suitcase in   
her hand. “Though, I once spent a month with an artist.” 

And did he or she draw you like one of their French girls? I thought bitterly to myself. 

“Now, if you don’t have any more questions, I think you should leave,” Alexandra said. “I have other places to be, and I have to drop the key off by the counter.” 

I didn’t want to leave. Every nerve in my body was protesting against the mere thought. But she had made her point last night. What happens in this room stays in this room. 

So I was obviously a fool for asking: “Do I get to see you again?” 

She raised an eyebrow. “Why on earth would you want that? This was just about satisfying your curiosity, was it not?” 

I opened my mouth and then closed it again. Because I had no idea what to answer to that. 

“You’re not the first curious woman I’ve had in a hotel room, miss Welles.” Alexandra drawled. “Now return to your life and leave me alone.” 

She was doing it again. She was pushing me away. 

“Why are you like this?” I asked quietly. 

“Like what?” she scoffed. “Don’t act as if I’ve promised you anything. You’ve already got what you came for.” 

“You think last night was what I came for?” 

“I know it was,” Alexandra said. “It was written all over your face, sweet pea. I was doing you a favor. I showed you that sex isn’t necessarily boring. Now get out of here.” 

Once again, I didn’t know how to respond. Her quick responses were making me dizzy. 

“Forget this happened. You’ve never been in this hotel room, is that clear? I’m not interested in getting busted for sleeping with a minor.”

“It was consensual.” I muttered. 

“It is still frowned upon, miss Welles.” Alexandra said gravely. 

My phone started buzzing, and I could see that it was Allen calling me again. 

“You have commitments elsewhere,” Alexandra commented. “And so have I. Time to leave, miss Welles.” 

Arguing with her would be useless. I couldn’t do anything when she was like this, and maybe I knew deep down that she was right. I had been curious. And disappointed over how sex had been so far. 

Until she had shown me differently last night. 

I had even agreed to what she said last night. That it couldn’t be anything else. 

What would be the point in wishing for more? 

She was an escort. And I was a teenage girl. 

And according to her I had gotten what I came for. 

Walk away, Celine. Just walk away. 

My throat felt constricted as I said: “Goodbye then.” 

“Goodbye miss Welles. Try not to do anything stupid in the future.” 

The warning was pretty wasted. I had already done something stupid. I had become addicted to her voice, her eyes, her kisses and her caresses. 

I didn’t respond to the warning either. Instead I spun around on my heels and left the hotel room.

 

It’s for the best, it’s for the best, I tried to convince myself as I sat in the bus on my way back to Queen Anne. I had to think of it like Alexandra/Greta did. To her, it hadn’t meant anything. It had just been   
sex. Plain and simple. No strings attached. I wasn’t the first curious woman who had come to her. Why should she think of it at anything else? Why should I? It would be better to just forget about this   
and…

Nope. I couldn’t do that. Well, I had to try and accept that Greta was unobtainable, but I couldn’t just continue with my life like nothing had happened. 

Which meant Allen. 

Even if I never saw Greta again, I couldn’t carry on with him. He didn’t deserve that in anyway. He was a great guy and I had done an extremely shitty thing to him.

I had to end things with him now. Before they got serious. I wasn’t so sure I would tell him the real reason why I wanted to end things, but I had to let him go. If I held on to him, I would be a coward. 

My head was hurting. Maybe because of everything that had happened within the last twenty four hours. Or possibly because I hadn’t had any breakfast yet. 

Well, I’ll just have to have breakfast when I get home. And then I’ll catch up on some of that homework. 

Or maybe I would just sleep. God knows I needed to sleep. I was positively exhausted after last night. Greta had awakened something in me I didn’t even knew were there in the first place. 

And now that she had showed me away for the third time, I had no idea what to do with it. She didn’t want to see me again. That much was obvious. 

And I actually understood why she didn’t want to see me again. She was right, it was frowned upon. 

But the less rational side of me was screaming to see her again. Consequences be damned.

I craved her.

Like an addict crave their drug. 

I had a little bit to eat when I got home. Not that I was really hungry. 

I didn’t know what to do with myself now. 

Allen called, but I didn’t answer. Instead I texted him back. He asked if I wanted to hang out later.

I was a coward again and told him that I needed to take care of some school stuff. Allen completely understood that. Sometimes he was just too nice. 

I opened my laptop and tried to focus on my homework, but the only thing I thought of, was last night. How Greta… No, how Alexandra had touched me. Her raspy voice. How her soft hair had tickled me. 

Her lips on my body. 

It didn’t mean anything, I reminded myself. It was just sex. She had made that quite clear. I was just another curious woman she had “helped”. Exactly like one of her “clients”. 

I scoffed bitterly. Why did I have to get attracted to someone so forbidden? And why was it that she only piqued my interest every time she asked me to leave? 

She had been brusque with me this morning. 

That should have made me angry.

Instead I just wanted to see her again. 

Maybe I was a closeted sadist. 

Or maybe I’m just a fucking idiot.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

The next few weeks I did my best to pull myself together.

I paid attention in school. I kept on top of my homework. 

But not even the homework could take my mind off the things that had happened in room 213 on Hotel Ballard. 

During the day, I tried to abstract from it. 

But during the night there was absolutely power on earth that could prevent me from thinking about what had happened between me and “Alexandra”. 

Sometimes my mind spiraled so much out of control I had to do certain things to myself to get a moment of quiet. More than once, my hand had wandered down and slipped into my underwear to get just a little bit of relief.

I couldn’t ask for absolute silence when my mind was yelling. 

And my mind currently was. If my mind had a solid form, it would bang its fists repeatedly while chanting: Alexandra, Alexandra, Alexandra…

Or Greta, Greta, Greta….

I didn’t care which one of them. Either of them would do right now. 

Sometimes I had to reach for my laptop and notoriously write what I was feeling. In a way, it helped, but on the other hand, seeing the written words about what had happened at hotel Ballard didn’t really   
help my state of mind. 

I had always thought that it was a huge cliché to claim that a certain experience had changed you for good, but that was exactly what had happened. 

I felt different. 

I felt changed. 

I felt as if Alexandra had unlocked something deep inside me. Like she had unlocked a door and left without closing it. 

And I didn’t know how to close that door again.

I didn’t know what to do with the things I had found out about myself. 

Because I already knew that Greta/Alexandra had left her mark on me. Both physically and metaphorically. I could fumble around for years and it wouldn’t make any fucking difference. 

Nothing would ever measure up to the way Greta had touched me. 

Greta had made it clear that it was a one time thing. Something that didn’t matter. And from what I knew, you’re supposed to regret casual sex.

But I didn’t. 

The only thing I regretted was, that I hadn’t participated more in the act. That I had let her play me like a violin. 

Why hadn’t I held on to her more firmly? 

Why hadn’t I kissed her deeper? 

And why hadn’t I asked her to let me see her? 

Why hadn’t I tried to explore her body like she had explored mine? 

I wished that she hadn’t been so correct in her statement. That the experience just had been about my curiosity. 

And I was a little angry too. She had made it sound like I was after one thing alone. But I knew that wasn’t true. I had had absolutely zero expectations when I had walked into that hotel room. 

And Greta had made it sound like I had planned it all. She had manipulated the events. 

I didn’t understand it. How could the woman who had been so gentle with me one night be so cold and brusque with me the next day? She had acted so disinterested the following day. 

Was she really that angry at herself for having slept with a seventeen year old? 

Was she angry because she had given in to the temptation so to speak? 

Maybe that was it. Maybe that was the reason for her anger. 

I had kept “hassling” her. She had given me the thing I really wanted but couldn’t find the words to describe. End of story. 

Or, for her that was the end of the story. 

But not for me. 

I didn’t care about our differences or about my age. 

I didn’t care that I was playing with fire. 

I just wanted to see her again. Just one more time. One last kiss. 

And then I would get out of her face. 

Then I would stop “hassling” her. 

Well, at least that’s what I kept telling myself.

I kept telling myself that getting involved with an older woman who also happened to be an escort was a really bad idea. One hell of a sidetrack. 

But the problem was that I didn’t really care. 

I was already in too deep.

Greta had trouble with figuring out whether I was incredibly stubborn, incredibly bold or just incredible stupid. She wasn’t the only one who couldn’t figure that out. 

By Wednesday I had reached the conclusion that I would go crazy if I kept thinking about it. 

It was affecting my sleep. Alexandra had successfully wormed her way into my head, and while it was better than dreaming about the accident, it was still pretty exhausting, dreaming about a woman I   
was never gonna see again. 

So I decided right then and there to stop thinking about it. 

I was gonna place Alexandra in a box, lock said box and then throw the key as far away as possible. 

I needed to get back on track. And that included to start being honest. 

Which meant stop stringing Allen along. I had screwed him over for far too long. 

I still cared immensely for him, but that wasn’t enough. 

He deserved better. He deserved someone who was devoted to him. 

So, when he called me Wednesday after school, I immediately agreed to meeting him at his place. 

 

Despite it being May, it was a grey and chilly day in Seattle, and I was glad when I reached my destination. But however cold it was outside, I knew it was about to get a hell of a lot colder inside. 

I felt like such a monster when Allen greeted me. He smiled at me. I did my best to smile back. It felt weird seeing him again. I studied him as he rose from his bed and gave me a hug. He still looked good in his jeans and grey sweatshirt and with his dirty blonde hair tousled in that “just rolled out of bed”-way

But he also looked different. 

Or I was seeing him differently.

Although it had only been a couple of days since I had last seen him, something had completely shifted. 

He was still that same clever, funny, good looking, sweet guy I had fallen for, but the millions of butterflies that once invaded my stomach when I saw him were gone. 

I felt blank. Like a slate that had been wiped clean. 

I was no longer in love with him. Seeing him only made that so much more obvious. 

“Hey babe,” he smiled and gave me a kiss on the cheek. 

“Hi. Are you feeling better?” 

“Yeah, but I might have coughed up a lung on the way to recovery,” he joked. 

“That sounds… delicious.” 

He laughed. “Do you want something to drink? Coffee?” 

“Yeah, coffee would be great.” 

“Coming right up,” he said. “Just the usual? We’ve just gotten an expresso machine, and I think I wanna try it. Just to be bold.”

As he left to make the coffee, I sat down on his bed. The very same bed I had had sex in for the first time. It occurred to me, that I was about to soil this place with my words. I was about to ruin what had   
happened between us in this bed. I should have chosen to have this talk with him another place. 

It didn’t take long before he came back into his room, and as he served the coffee, I tried to figure out how to say this. Allen was my first “serious” boyfriend. I had never tried breaking up before. 

Allen took a small sip of his espresso and I took a too large gulp of my usual black coffee. I could almost feel the blisters appear in my throat. 

“So, have you thought about what you want to do for your eighteenth birthday?” Allen asked. 

“Uhh…” holy shit, my eighteenth birthday. My eighteenth birthday which is coming up in three weeks. I had totally forgot about that. How the fuck did I manage to forget my own birthday?! Am I really that   
distracted? 

“I haven’t really thought about it,” I said truthfully, but then added a lie: “I’ve been too busy with school stuff.” 

“I get it.” Allen nodded. “But if you need ideas I was thinking about that new restaurant. Maybe we could…” 

I zoned out. I couldn’t focus on what he was saying. My throat was constricting painfully. Allen wanted to do something special for my birthday. Allen wanted to take me to that new Italian restaurant that   
had just opened. Please don’t let him have bought a gift already.

“…Would you like that?” 

I blinked. “Sorry?” at least pay attention to what he’s saying, Celine! You owe him that. 

“I was just saying that maybe we could have a party at my place. Your mom is probably not gonna allow you to have it at your place, is she?” 

“Nope, probably not.” I cringed. I already knew the drill when it came to spend my birthday with my mother. She would take me out to some overpriced restaurant that required wearing a dress. Then she   
would order a ridiculously expensive meal and complain about the steak being overcooked or something like that. Maybe she would even send the food back and make a scene. And once she had harassed   
the poor waiter enough to give he or she trauma, she would turn her attention to me and start discussing My Future. Or she would tell me what I was supposed to do with my life and I would agree with her to avoid any drama.   
And then, to end the night on a “cheerful” note she would wait until we had left the restaurant and then she would correct me for “scowling” or discreetly ask me why I had chosen to wear that dress.   
Some birthday it was gonna be. 

Maybe I would just cancel my birthday this year. 

“So, what do you say?” 

I quickly snapped out of it. “About what?” 

“The party,” Allen said and laughed. “What’s with you today?” 

And that’s where I could have chosen to say “nothing, I’m fine”. 

But if I did that I would only add to the pile of lies. 

That would have made me an even bigger coward. 

And I was done being a coward. 

So instead of shrugging it off I found myself mumbling: “I…. I can’t.” 

“Okay, that’s fine. The party can wait until another day. It doesn’t have to be on your birthday.” 

I shook my head. “No, Allen. I don’t mean the party. I mean… us.” 

“Us? What are you talking about, Celine?” now he was confused. 

“I…” I struggled to find the right way to say this. How could I dump him gently? The answer was, that I couldn’t. There was no “right” way to do this. 

“You’re a really great guy,” I said and immediately cringed. That sounded like a cliché line from a movie. 

And Allen’s face instantly darkened. His expression switched from playful to reserved. 

“I mean it,” I said earnestly. “You’re the sweetest guy I’ve ever met.” I so wanted to shuffle closer to him and take his hand. But I was afraid he would rip his hand away from me.

“Then why does it feel an awful lot like you’re trying to end things?” Allen said.

“Allen…” I whispered and my voice broke. “I’m so sorry. You deserve…” I blinked back tears. “You deserve so much better than this.” 

He leaned back on his chair and frowned “Have I done something wrong? Have I pushed you? Because if I have, I….” 

“No,” I interrupted and shook my head. “You’ve been great. It’s not you. It’s me.” another cliché. 

The concern was wiped from his face and he folded his arms across his chest instead. His body language made me cringe. His shoulders were tight, tugged up under his ears and he was leaning away   
from me on the bed, trying to create as much psychical distance between us as possible. Everything about his body language signalized “closed off”. 

“Is there someone else?” he asked plainly. 

Maybe. Possibly. Yes. No. NO. At least not anyone who’s interested in me. 

“No,” I said. “There isn’t someone else. I just can’t… It doesn’t feel…” 

“Right.” He said frostily. 

“I’m really sorry.” I said. Because there was really nothing else I could say. “I’m sorry” didn’t even begin to cover it, but unfortunately there didn’t exist other words for this particular situation. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, and it was the kind of “yeah” that often was accompanied by a disinterested “whatever”. 

An uncomfortable silence followed, and we just sat there. Allen looked every where but at me, and I silently wondered whether it was possible to feel any worse than I did right now. 

I so wished there was something I could say to him. Something that could offer him some sort of comfort, but there was really nothing else I could say. No words could even begin to cover how sorry I was   
for doing this to him. My first boyfriend. My first love. My first everything. The guy I had once dreamed of moving to New York with. The guy I once wanted to live with. 

For a crazy second, I considered to take it all back. To say that I was just being an idiot. A coward who ran instead of trying to solve the problem. 

But that impulse only lasted for a second. If I stayed with him I would only hurt him further. 

This was for the best. This was the only thing I could do. 

It hurt like hell, but there was nothing else I could do. I didn’t have a magical wand. I couldn’t erase what had happened at hotel Ballard. I couldn’t stuff Allen into the room Greta had opened. 

God, I’m such a bitch. 

Allen shifted on the bed, and then he rose to his feet. “maybe you should leave,” he said. He turned around, so he had his back to me.

“Okay. I’ll leave,” I whispered, but every part of me protested. It felt horrible, leaving it like this. It wasn’t right. 

I couldn’t even get myself to mutter a “goodbye”. My voice wasn’t obeying. And Allen didn’t say anything either. He was still turned away from me. The only sound was my footsteps as I left his room. My   
legs felt like jelly as I walked through his house and then left the place. There hadn’t been a right way to do this, but I could sense that I somehow had managed to find a spectacularly wrong way. I always   
managed to find the wrong ways to do things. That was sort of my thing, blundering around like an idiot.

I felt completely numb as I walked down the street. I might as well go home. I have done enough damage for one day. 

I should be locked up for my crimes. There should definitely be some sort of lawsuit against breaking someone’s heart. Allen would know about that. He wanted to be a lawyer. 

Tears prickled behind my eyes and my heart started thrumming uncomfortably in my chest. Maybe I was getting a panic attack. That would definitely be a fair punishment for the monstrous act I had just committed. 

The tears were spilling freely by the time I got back home, and I slumped down on my bed. Breaking someone’s heart really sucked. 

Fuck you, Greta. Fuck you, Alexandra. Fuck both of you for getting into my head. 

And fuck me for ever setting foot in that hotel room. God, I wish I had never met her in the first place! 

Did I really mean that? Right now I did. But it was possible that I would feel differently tomorrow. 

I’m a bitch. A monster. A fucking…. 

The sharp sound of my phone interrupted me, and for a crazy second, I thought it was Allen. 

Of course it wasn’t. It was Hannah. 

Could I even talk to her right now? 

Only one way to find out. “Hello?” 

“Hey,” came Hannah’s voice in the other end. “What’s up?” 

“Nothing much,” I muttered and rubbed a hand over my eyes. 

“Your voice sounds weird,” Hannah said after holding it for a beat. “Are you okay?”

“N-no,” I whispered. 

“What happened, Celine? Is your mom getting on your nerves again?” 

Bless her for usually knowing why I was upset. I loved both Hannah and Michelle, and the way they always hit the head on the nail.

“No. Allen and I…” I was just about to say had a fight, but that wasn’t right. “Allen and I broke up.” 

“Oh honey,” Hannah said gently. “I’m so sorry.”

I laughed humorlessly. “Allen is the one you should feel sorry for. Not me. I’m a cold hearted bitch.” 

“If you were, you wouldn’t be crying over having ended things with him,” Hannah pointed out. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No. At least not yet. Is that okay?” 

“Totally. Do you want me to come over?” she asked. “I can be there in five.” 

I only needed a second to consider that. Maybe a bit of girl time to take my mind of things for a while wouldn’t be so bad. 

“That sounds good.” I said. 

“I’ll bring plenty of greasy snacks,” Hannah promised before she hung up.

That was nice of her, and I wouldn’t mind some gross snacks right now. Even though Allen probably needed them more than I. 

 

Exactly five minutes and twenty seconds later, Hannah pressed the doorbell and I quickly opened the door for her. I only saw a flurry of red hair before she hugged me tightly. Then I laughed as she held up a bag filled to the brim with “greasy snacks”, as she called it. Nachos and cheese. Ready to pop into the oven. Strawberry popcorn. Dark chocolate with nuts. And vodka. 

“Being a bit drunk always helps a little,” she said. 

I felt tempted to agree with that statement. Right now I wouldn’t mind being a bit drunk. Or maybe I just wanted to be fucking wasted. 

Hannah asked no questions as we settled on the couch. She simply snatched the laptop from me. “I’ll choose a movie. You just concentrate on drinking. And eating.” 

“Roger that,” I said and took a swig of the vodka. “What are we watching?” 

“Your favorite,” Hannah chuckled. 

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when the opening credits to “Pretty Woman” rolled over the screen. Hannah was right, Pretty Woman was my favorite movie, but now it felt a little too close to home. 

Even though, they were totally different, Vivian reminded me of Greta. Of Alexandra. Of room 213 on Ballard Hotel. Of Alexandra’s dainty hands on my body. Of my clothes piling up on the floor. Of 

Alexandra’s soft hair tickling my naked body. 

Fuck this. 

I took an extra large gulp of the vodka. I was aiming for drinking my troubles away. 

Maybe I could even chase Greta out of my mind with a little help from the alcohol. 

I could at least try. 

I totally deserved going to school with hangovers tomorrow.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

After the breakup with Allen, I fell directly into a black hole. 

Or, at least that’s how it felt. 

My nightmares and insomnia returned full force. For the most part I couldn’t sleep, but when I finally did, I dreamt only of one thing. The accident.

I often lied awake for hours and tossed and turned while my mind was spinning with a hundredth kilometers per hour. The hurt in Allen’s eyes. His closed off posture. Greta’s hands on my body. Her chestnut curls tickling me. It was three weeks since that night at hotel Ballard, and my mind showed little signs of forgetting.

Everything was piling together in my head and I could have sworn I was going mad. 

But for some reason I didn’t. I kept it together. I had hurt Allen, yes. But I had also done the only thing I could do. If I stayed with him and kept lying, it would be so much worse. 

Greta/Alexandra…. Well, in her mind it had been about one thing, and just one thing. And maybe she was right. Maybe I had been curious about sex all along. Maybe my night with her had been the push 

I needed to realize that guys wasn’t my only option.

I had no problem with being bisexual. But I did have a problem with how Alexandra first had opened a whole new world to me and then asked me to leave and basically forget all about it. 

That didn’t seem fair. 

She was older. I got that. 

She was an escort who earned her money by being a pretty thing on a man’s arm and by “helping” lonely women. I understood that too. Pretty heavy stuff. And quite the message to send to me: stay away,   
Celine.

But the thing was....... I didn’t want to stay away. 

I was still curious. Despite the night we had spent together, I still knew so little about her.

I knew her name and age. Her job and where she lived. And that was it. That was what I knew. 

She was still cloaked in the same type of mystery I had sensed the first time I met her in that smoke filled bar. 

And she was still every bit alluring. 

Despite her brusque attitude, I was still taken in by her. 

And I cursed myself for being so. But I couldn’t do anything to change it. As a wise young guy in a movie once said, “I’m too involved now.” 

Damn right I was too involved now. 

To Greta/Alexandra our night together might have been the ending to all our random encounters, but it was a beginning to me. 

I wasn’t done with her yet. Deep in my gut, I knew that. But I wasn’t stupid enough to show up at her houseboat. That would only give her the upper hand, and I didn’t want her to have that. Not this time. 

No, this time I was the one entitled to be angry. 

What right did she have to unlock something deep inside me and then leave with the key? 

What right did she have to be so fucking alluring and so unobtainable at the same time? 

And what right did she have to weasel her way into my head and fill it with thoughts I’d never had before? What right did she have to monopolize my dreams like she did? 

The answer was, that she had none. She had no right to be in my head. No fucking right. 

But the problem was, that I had no idea how to get her out of my head. I didn’t know how to banish Greta from my thoughts. 

Maybe I was going insane after all. 

Maybe that would be more pleasurable than this hell I was currently living.

I don’t know how no one picked up on the mess there was inside my head. I don’t know how I managed to keep a straight face and do my homework like nothing was wrong. 

I don’t know how I succeeded in lying to my mother when she returned from New York two weeks later, almost bursting with excitement over the conference. I don’t know how I managed to look like I was   
paying attention to what she said. 

And I definitely don’t know how I managed to say “everything’s been fine” when she asked how I had handled things alone for two weeks. Maybe I had turned into the world’s   
finest liar within the two weeks she had been gone. 

I didn’t know how it happened, but suddenly three weeks had passed. Had I been in a trance? Or had I just buried myself in homework, determined to forget everything?

But either way, suddenly my birthday was here. May 31. Happy birthday, Celine. You made it to eighteen. You’re officially an adult in charge of your actions. 

At least that’s what my mother said when she congratulated me in her chilling way. Turning eighteen meant that everything would change, she said. I was not a kid anymore. Now was the time to really prepare for the future. 

“I expect you to work hard until graduation,” she said. “You’ve done a good job lately, and I would hate to see you slacking.” 

“I won’t,” I sighed. Why couldn’t she just say she was proud of me for working so hard at school? Why did she always have to warn me? 

“I’m glad to see you be so focused on your future,” she continued. “Clearly, you’ve taken what I said to heart. Boyfriends will only distract you in the long run. You can always find someone, but a career is   
for life, Celine. Remember that.” 

I wanted to yell at her. To scream at her to make her stop talking about Allen and about things she didn’t know a shit about. But as usually, something held me back. 

“I’ve booked us a table at Altura tonight,” she wheedled on. “Wear something suitable.” 

By “something suitable” I knew she meant a dress, so I went upstairs and searched through my closet to find something appropriate. 

I had just pulled a plain black dress out of the closet when my phone started buzzing. 

It was a text from Michelle, wishing me a happy birthday and asking if we should go out and celebrate. I texted back and told her that I couldn’t tonight, I was having dinner with my mother, but I   
suggested tomorrow night. Michelle voluntarily offered to find a place where we could celebrate. 

I told her to go right ahead. Tomorrow night my mother would be working anyway. She wouldn’t notice whether I was home or not. Which was both a luxury and a little sad. 

I was holding the dress up in front of me to determine whether it was suitable enough when my phone buzzed again. For a moment I thought it was Allen who texted me, but of course it wasn’t. It was   
Hannah. She too wished me a happy birthday and asked if I had heard anything from Allen. 

I texted back that I hadn’t. I still hadn’t told my friends the real reason why I had ended things with Allen. I didn’t know how to tell that tale. I was afraid of their reaction. I loved my friends, and I didn’t for a moment doubt that the feeling was mutual, but there was no way I could be certain of their reaction if I told them that I had slept with a woman much older than myself.

 

The following night, I was wearing the black, knee length dress. My hair was styled in waves and my face looked more like a mask, smothered in makeup. I sighed. This wasn’t me at all. I could barely recognize myself in the mirror. It was my mother who had bought the dress and I knew she expected me to wear it. 

Once again, I didn’t have the guts to argue with her. I was too tired. I had enough on my plate already. I didn’t have the strength to argue with her too. 

I was quiet on the short car ride to restaurant Altura.

She talked. 

I listened. 

She talked. 

I listened. 

Or, I tried to. I tried to pay attention to the things she said, but it didn’t take long before her voice and her talk about the future blurred and turned into background noise. My mind was everywhere but in   
the car. 

I tried to snap out of it as we reached the restaurant, but I still felt a bit like a zombie as we headed inside, and she guided me over to a table too big for two. 

The restaurant was too much. The room enormous and with dimmed lights. There weren’t that many guests either, and I immediately felt underdressed. This was definitely a place where expensive jewelry was displayed, and the men wore suits. 

And obviously, my mother felt every bit at home in this environment. She looked like she owned the place as she looked around, brought a hand up to correct her already perfect pageboy hair and then   
took a closer look at the menu.

“So, what do you want to eat?” she asked, and in the same breath: “the short rib tortellini look good, don’t you think?”

“Yeah. I guess.” I haven’t even had the chance to look at the menu yet. 

“But the Buccino Nero looks good too,” she continued, and I hadn’t the faintest idea what the heck a “Buccino Nero” was.

Despite the fact that I had no idea what it was, that was what she ordered for the both of us. Along with a glass of red wine for herself. Water for me. Even though it was my birthday, she wouldn’t allow me to drink, surely, I understood that. I was smart enough to keep quiet about the fact that a glass of red wine wouldn’t exactly be my first meeting with alcohol.

The Altura had some damn effective waiters. We didn’t even wait the mandatory twenty minutes before our food arrived. And despite not knowing what I was eating, it tasted rather good. 

“Happy birthday, sweetie,” my mother said as she raised her glass. 

“Thank you, mother.” 

She flashed me a smile and then reached within her bag and presented me with a white envelope. 

“What’s this?” I asked. She had already given me a pair of earrings this morning. 

“Open it.” she said. 

I quickly tore the envelope open and to my surprise a plane ticket fell out. I grabbed the ticket and studied it. But I couldn’t get it to make sense. 

“Mother, why are you giving me a plane ticket to Boston?” I asked and frowned. 

“Check the envelope again.” 

I did. I thrusted my hand into the envelope and my fingers found some sort of paper. I withdrew my hand from the envelope and pulled the paper with me. 

It wasn’t just a piece of paper. It was a folder. About Harvard University. 

Harvard University. I suddenly felt like throwing up all of the over expensive food I’d just eaten. 

“I ran into a professor at the conference,” my mother said and smiled self-satisfied. “And he was sure you’d be the perfect candidate for Harvard University. I’ve arranged for you to go to Boston and get a   
guided tour around campus. Of course, you will have to apply, but that’s just routine. Judging by your grades, you’ll have no problem getting accepted.” 

“I…” I didn’t know what to say. Harvard University. The best medical school in the world. Getting accepted was a huge accomplishment. And definitely not for me. I had no desire to study medicine. Or go   
to Harvard for that matter. I didn’t…. I didn’t know what I wanted. I had counted on taking a sabbath year and consider my options. And hopefully get my shit together.

But as I looked at the folder, it felt like my whole future had been decided for me already. 

“Well… Aren’t you pleased?” mother asked and shot me a look. “I studied at Harvard, and I’m sure you’ll like it just as much as I did.” 

My mouth felt completely dry and I struggled to swallow my own saliva. Once again, my mother had demonstrated her ability to interfere and meddle in my life. But this time the effect of her meddling   
was quite extensive. In a very short while, she expected me to go to Boston. She expected me to apply and get accepted into Harvard University. She expected me to do what she did. 

And if there was something I didn’t want, it was to do what she did. I didn’t want to be like her. I didn’t wish to transform into a working machine who only thought about money and material stuff. 

She was still looking at me. Her dark blue eyes gleaming disapprovingly over my lack of response. 

My stomach tightened. Some celebration. Happy birthday, Celine. I’ve planned your future. Aren’t I a good mother? 

In some ways, she was a good mother. She only wanted me to do well, I knew that. But she wanted me to do well in the right way. Her way. In her mind, medical school was the only option. The only thing   
I could choose. She would never accept anything else. 

But the thing was…. Medicine meant about as little to me as this over expensive dinner did. I found it nice, but I would have been just as happy with something simpler. I didn’t need over expensive food I couldn’t pronounce, and I didn’t need to become a hot shot surgeon to be happy. 

I looked at my mother who was still awaiting my response. This refined career woman. She might as well have been a stranger. 

“I need to go to the ladies’ room.” I said shortly and rose from my seat. Before she could say anything, I walked away from the table and into the bathroom. 

The ladies’ room proved to be a bit of a sanctuary. I leaned back against the door and closed my eyes for a second. My mother had done some pretty heavy stuff when it came to intervene with my life, but this definitely took the cake. She had arranged a meeting at Harvard University without asking me. Seriously, she had been gone for two weeks, and she had called home every second day. It would have been so easy for her to ask me. 

But she didn’t. Oh no, she had to go behind my back. She had to manipulate and decide for me. 

I rubbed my forehead without opening my eyes. Turning eighteen hadn’t made any fucking difference. She still saw me as a kid she could decide things for. She would never see me as me. I had a feeling that she saw herself when she looked at me. A younger version of herself she could mold and shape. 

I sighed deeply. This was turning into a really shitty evening. Thank fuck I’m gonna get wasted tomorrow. 

It was when I opened my eyes again I realized, that this evening was going from shitty to a fucking nightmare.

Of all the restaurants in all of Seattle…. Why did Greta have to be here? 

I felt tempted to either scream or laugh hysterically, because seriously, how hellish could one evening be?

But I ended up doing neither. Greta stood in front of the mirror, she was leaning forward slightly, and her hands were curled around the sink. She was breathing deeply, in and out, in and out. It reminded   
me of the technique I used when I had a panic attack, and I frowned as a wave of concern washed over me. I had decided to be angry with her, but my anger completely vaporized. What is wrong with her? 

What’s the matter? Is she having a panic attack or something like that? 

I walked forward towards her and outstretched my hand, but then I stilled with my hand hovering only inches from her. She probably wouldn’t appreciate me sneaking up on her. 

I had to try another tactic. 

“Alexandra?” I said hesitantly. Her “other” name came shockingly easy to me. 

I saw how her silk clad back stiffened and she turned around slowly. She looked every bit beautiful as always, but I noticed that the dark circles under her eyes were back. 

“Miss Welles,” she acknowledged and for a moment her raspy voice made me forget why I had approached her. 

I pulled myself together. “Are you… okay?” 

She straightened her back. “Perfectly fine.” 

“You don’t look perfectly fine,” I pointed out. 

“Dizzy spell,” she brushed my concern aside and reached into her purse and found a bottle of water. “I’ve probably just forgot to drink water.” 

“Okay.” I shifted on my feet. I didn’t want to leave the bathroom just yet. I tried to remind myself that I was angry at her, but for some reason I couldn’t quite find my angry place. Alexandra looked so   
vulnerable as she stood there, insisting on drinking water from a bottle when there was a sink two feet from her. 

After a few gulps she screwed the lit back on and stuffed the water bottle back into her purse. Then she measured me from head to toe. “You look quite enchanting tonight. What’s the occasion?” 

Her sudden compliment completely bluescreened my brain for a solid ten seconds. What right did she have to compliment my outfit when she didn’t want to see me again? Shaking my head, I pulled   
myself together and said: “It’s my birthday.” 

“Oh, I see. Well, happy birthday,” Alexandra said and smoothened a crease on her midnight blue silk blouse. 

“Thanks,” I muttered. 

“Out celebrating with your friends perhaps?” she inquired and found a little flask of perfume in her purse. 

“No. I’m here with my mother,” I mumbled and watched as she sprayed her wrist once with the probably expensive drops. She rubbed her wrists together to spread the scent. 

“Oh.” Alexandra said. Nothing else. But I was suddenly reminded of the way she had celebrated her own birthday. Alone at a local coffee shop with a book and a cup of tea. Well, she had been alone until I   
had shown up. Until she had sent a cup of coffee over to my table. 

She had looked sad and lonely there, and it occurred to me that there was the same look in her ice blue eyes right now. She looked sad. Lonely. And maybe even a bit vulnerable. 

“Are you here alone?” I boldly asked. 

She didn’t even bat an eye when she said: “No.” 

I assumed that meant she was here with a “client”, so I didn’t ask any more. I didn’t really care, and my head was exploding with flashbacks from our night together. The memories became sharper now as 

I was looking at her. I could still feel her hands on my body. I could still smell her perfume, feel her hair tickling me. Her lips against mine. 

Why was it that my brain always tricked itself into believing that I could actually forget her? 

I couldn’t. Of course, I couldn’t. How was I supposed to? 

For three weeks I had tried to banish her from my mind. For three weeks I had convinced myself that I was angry with her. But now, as I watched her brush a curl behind her ear, I couldn’t remember why I   
was angry with her. I couldn’t remember the reason for ever wanting to banish her from my thoughts. And I certainly couldn’t quieten all the millions of flashbacks popping up in my mind. I couldn’t forget   
what happened at room 213 at Hotel Ballard. 

I couldn’t remember the reasons why she was forbidden. Unobtainable. Off-limits. 

I forgot that I was a high school student and she was an escort. I simply didn’t care. 

“You are making this ever so difficult,” Alexandra commented as she applied more lipstick. 

Was she one of those people who couldn’t put on makeup when someone was looking at her, or did she mean that my staring affected her?

And why should it? She made her opinion quite clear. It was just a one time thing. A one night stand. Why should you staring at her affect her in any way? 

I swallowed something and licked my dry lips. 

She put the lipstick back into her purse and turned around. I tried not to inhale as she passed me. Her perfume smelled amazing. Or maybe it was just her. 

“Celine?” she said. 

I turned around immediately and saw her standing with one hand on the doorknob. Ready to leave.

“Yeah?” I said and congratulated myself with how calm my voice was. 

“Happy birthday,” Alexandra said. Then she left the bathroom. 

She already said that once. After splashing my face with cold water and unsuccessfully trying to clear my head, I left the ladies’ room too and headed out in the restaurant again. 

My mother was very unsatisfied and told me it was “unladylike” to spend so much time at a public bathroom. I felt very tempted to tell her what people normally did when they were in the bathroom for a long time. 

But I didn’t. Instead I glanced around in the restaurant, my eyes were hunting Alexandra. And it didn’t take long before I found her. She was sitting at a table in the corner of the restaurant with a woman. 

A beautiful woman. A blonde woman wearing a dusty pink dress. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a high ponytail. They looked like a normal couple. Nothing out of the ordinary. Alexandra smiled and clinked her glass with the woman’s. Her ice blue eyes were sparkling, and she looked at the woman like she was the world’s most interesting woman. The way she acted was so natural. She looked “perfectly fine” and completely unaffected for someone who had just had a panic attack in the bathroom. 

She did a fucking fine job at fooling the woman, but I could sense that something was off. Her refined façade and alluring smile didn’t fool me. 

No, something was wrong.

Something was definitely wrong.

I just couldn’t pinpoint exactly what.

“Celine? Are you paying attention?” mother asked. 

“Yeah. Of course I am,” I assured.

My mother’s eyes briefly followed my stare, and she zeroed in on the couple in the corner. I couldn’t be sure, but it looked like Alexandra and the unknown woman were discreetly holding hands. 

Mother shook her head. “In this type of restaurant, really?” 

My temperament flared up. “What do you mean?” 

She clicked her tongue. “I’m sure it isn’t necessary to display that sort of thing in here.” 

“That sort of thing?” I echoed and had to fight a sudden urge to storm out of the restaurant. 

“I have nothing against it, Celine,” she said overbearingly. “But I’m sure there are other places they could eat. More suitable places.” 

My vision went red and I clenched my teeth. I silently begged the higher powers that Alexandra was sitting far enough away to not hear what my mother just said. 

Mother completely overlooked my discomfort and continued her monologue about Harvard University. 

Her voice faded out. I didn’t really listen. Instead my gaze kept wandering towards the table in the corner.


	20. Chapter Twenty

I wasn’t completely sure whether I really, really needed a night out, or wasn’t in party mood at all. 

I ended up choosing option number one. I was gonna get wasted tonight. I deserved it. Everything was piling up in my head. The hurt in Allen eyes, the plane ticket, the folder about Harvard University.   
Greta’s hands curling around the sink in the bathroom as she inhaled and exhaled slowly. 

And then a moment later, she had smiled and flirted with the woman in the pink dress like nothing had been wrong. She was one hell of an actress. 

But her acting had been less convincing in that bathroom. When it was just me and her. She had brushed it off as a “dizzy spell”, but to me, it had seemed like a lie. It had looked like one of my panic attacks. 

Now I had two options: I could drive myself crazy wondering what had caused her to panic like that, or I could have a little panic attack myself about the more pressing issue. 

The Harvard folder and the plane ticket lying on my desk and staring at me. 

I had considered the possibility that I was simply a spoiled brat who couldn’t appreciate that my mother wanted the best for me. I had considered that my problem was a luxury problem. I had even tried and scold myself. Harvard University. How could I possibly say no to that? 

But it wasn’t what I wanted. Deep down I knew that. Going to Harvard University had never been on my wish list. 

And I had no idea how to explain that to my mother. I had never shown interest in medicine, and she was still convinced that I was gonna study medicine and become a doctor just like her. 

How did I explain that it wasn’t what I wanted without bringing down the house in the process? 

I couldn’t. I knew the truth would cause a massive outcry. If I rejected Harvard it would most likely be the end of me and my mother’s fragile relationship. 

She wouldn’t just be disappointed in me. She would never could accept that I wanted to do something else. Nothing would ever be the same if I turned my back on Harvard and medical school. 

And I wasn’t sure I was ready for that change yet. 

That’s how I came to decide that I wasn’t gonna cancel girl’s night with Hannah and Michelle. I needed this. I needed a night of fun before actually having to deal with things. Before things had to get   
serious. 

So, that night I had squeezed myself into an unbelievable tight pair of black, ripped jeans and a black lace up top. It didn’t leave much to the imagination, but it looked excellent with my black jeans and   
boots. As per usual, I was wearing my ragged leather jacket over it. Which was probably a good thing because my mother was actually home tonight. And she always found it to be her “duty” to inform me   
if she didn’t like what I was wearing. And she rarely liked what I was wearing. 

That included the leather jacket and I could see how she wrinkled her nose when I came downstairs. 

“What time are you coming home?” she asked. “I don’t think partying all night is wise. Your finals are coming up.” 

As if she needed to remind me that. “I’ll stay over at Michelle’s.” I said. Michelle and I hadn’t exactly talked about that yet, but I knew it wouldn’t be a problem. Michelle’s mom would be more than happy   
to invite me into her home. 

“Hmm.” My mother said, and her nose wrinkled again. She didn’t like Michelle. In fourth grade, Michelle had asked to see my answers on a test, just to see how far off her answers were. My mother had   
found and had loudly accused Michelle of “using me to cheat”. She had almost made it a schoolboard affair, but I had convinced her that Michelle hadn’t been using my results to cheat. 

Still, she had never forgotten that incident, and she still didn’t like Michelle. 

“See you tomorrow,” I said.

“I’m happy you consider yourself to be so much on top of things you have time to party, sweetie.” Came her crisp answer. “Don’t come home too late tomorrow. We need to discuss what you’re going to   
wear for your Harvard interview.” 

I tried not to grimace as I ran a finger through my blonde hair. “It’s months away, mother.” 

“It doesn’t hurt to start thinking about it already. Making a good first impression is the most important thing. Your last name alone won’t be enough, Celine.” 

Bla, bla, bla, bla. “See ya,” I muttered. Time to bolt. 

I left the house without answering her. Not the most mature tactic, but I knew from experience that it was foul proof, so to speak. 

She was yet to follow me outside and continue her lectures. 

This time I didn’t have to rely on public traffic. Five minutes after I had gone outside, Michelle’s car, or well, her mom’s car pulled up in front of me. But Michelle was the one behind the wheel, and she   
grinned broadly at me. 

“Ready to party?” 

“You bet.” I was more than ready to party.

“Hop in.” she chuckled. 

I immediately did as she instructed and fumbled a bit with my seatbelt as she switched the volume on the radio down. 

“So? Where are we going?” I asked and raised an eyebrow. 

“We,” Michelle grinned. “Are going to El Corazon. But first, we’re swinging by my place and make sure you’re in party mood.” 

I knew exactly what that meant. We were gonna start the party at her place. That included alcohol, and I didn’t mind that one bit. 

“Let’s get going,” Michelle said as she turned the car around. “Don’t worry, I won’t speed.” 

“Much appreciated.” 

“You know,” she said as we drove towards her place. “If you ever want to get behind the wheel again, I’ll be happy to sit next to you.” 

“That’s nice of you,” I said and ignored the twinge in my stomach. “But I think I’m gonna stick to busses and my bicycles.” 

“The accident wasn’t your fault, Celine.” 

“You know what, I don’t feel like talking about that today,” I said and was sure to keep my voice light. “We’re gonna party tonight, right?” 

“Right.” Michelle quickly dropped the subject, and to turn the conversation elsewhere I asked: 

“So, how’s Steve doing these days? You haven’t talked about in like… three days.”

“Shut up,” Michelle laughed. “He’s doing fine. But we don’t have to be together all the time.” 

I gasped in mock horror. “Who are you, and what have you done to Michelle?” 

“Shut up,” Michelle said again, and I laughed. 

My phone beeped, and I quickly checked the message from Hannah. She was already at Michelle’s waiting for us. 

“Is that Hannah?” Michelle asked. 

“Mhmm. I told her we would be there in ten.” 

“You haven’t heard anything from Allen?” 

“Nope,” I sighed. “I think he’s still angry. And I can’t blame him.” 

“What did happen between you two anyway?” Michelle asked. “One minute you’re planning to run off to New York together, and the next you announce you guys have broken up.” 

“It just didn’t work out,” I said, carefully to keep my tone and face neutral as I said it. I tried to repress every single memory of what had happened in room 213 at Hotel Ballard.

“I’m sorry, honey,” Michelle said and patted my knee. “He seemed so…” 

“The problem wasn’t him. It was me,” I said and quelled the panic rising in my throat at seeing her taking her hand off the wheel. “And I have bigger problems to worry about right now.” 

“Which problems?” 

I sighed. “My mother gave me a plane ticket and a fucking folder to Harvard University for my birthday.” 

“You’re kidding me?!” 

“Ha, ha, ha, I wish that I was.” I said grimly. 

“Holy shit. You really do need a night out.” 

“And a permanent holiday from my mother,” I mumbled. 

 

We definitely started the party at Michelle’s. Hannah, who was our designated driver didn’t drink, but Michelle wholeheartedly threw herself into the partying, and after a while, so did I. I didn’t really care   
about turning up drunk at the restaurant, to hell with that. This was my eighteenth’s birthday. I deserved a drink. 

“Ugh, what is this stuff?” I asked and made a face when I sipped the drink Michelle had just served for me. 

“Moscow Mule,” Michelle said. 

“What the hell is Moscow Mule?” 

“No idea. I just found the recipe in one of my mom’s books.”

“It’s disgusting,” I laughed. 

She took the glass from me and took a sip. Instantly, her nose wrinkled, and she grimaced. “You’re right. It is.” 

“Okay, try this instead, ladies.” Hannah said and handed me a newly made drink. “It’s called a “Gimlet”.” 

Both Michelle and I eyed the drink skeptically. 

“Go on,” Hannah encouraged. “Try it. For me. Tonight I’m living my life through you.”

“Well then, by all means,” Michelle laughed as she took a gulp of the drink. This time she didn’t make a face, so I quickly snatched the drink out of her hand and took a sip. 

“Mm. Nice.” I said. 

Somewhere between all the new drinks we tried, Michelle declared that she would be “sophisticated” from now on. And apparently, that meant making and drinking a Margarita. 

My head felt a little fuzzy as I accepted the drink, and maybe that was why I suddenly came to think of someone who would have been sophisticated enough to drink this. 

 

 

We weren’t downright drunk when we arrived at El Corazon, but we were definitely in a good mood. Even Hannah who hadn’t had anything to drink. 

“So, what do we want to eat?” Hannah asked. “I don’t know about you, but not drinking has made me absolutely starving.” 

“In that case I shouldn’t be hungry,” I joked. 

We ended up on a large plate of fries for all three of us. We laughed and talked and dragged the meal out. We had already been at Michelle’s for quite a while, so it was pretty late when we finally finished eating. 

“Let’s dance!” Michelle proclaimed loudly. “Come on, girls!” 

I felt more than up for that, and all three of us went out on the dance floor. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had such fun. Dancing alongside Hannah and Michelle was fun. I felt light. Like nothing   
could ever upset me. 

“We should celebrate your birthday more often!” Hannah yelled through the noise.

“I know!” I shouted back. 

“Can I buy you a drink, birthday girl?” I heard a voice say behind me. 

I turned around and came face to face with a tall, blonde guy dressed in jeans and a hoodie. 

“I don’t think so. But thanks for the offer,” I didn’t bother telling him that I was underage and definitely not allowed to drink in this place. 

“A shame,” he smirked as he walked away and joined his buddies again. 

“He was cute,” Michelle commented. 

“He was too old,” Hannah snorted. “I think he was like… twenty five or something like that.” 

“So what?” I heard myself protest. “That’s not that old.”

Hannah shot me a look. “Didn’t know you were into older guys, Welles.” 

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me,” I teased. The next second, I felt grateful that the music was loud enough to drown my voice. 

We danced until my feet started protesting. The high heeled boots I had chosen tonight were definitely not made for walking. 

I think my feet are dying,” I proclaimed. “Can we please celebrate a bit quieter now?” 

Both Hannah and Michelle found that to be an excellent proposal, and Michelle opened her purse and handed me a bottle of water. 

“Gotta make sure you stay hydrated,” she chuckled as she took a deep gulp of the water in her own bottle. 

I took a sip from the bottle and almost spluttered. That was most definitely vodka and not water. 

“Very clever,” Hannah commented and rolled her eyes as she took a sip of her actual water. 

“I’m a clever gal,” Michelle mocked with a rather horrible Texan accent. 

The rest of the evening disappeared in a blur of hysterical laughing, raising our “water bottles” and toasting to everything and nothing. Including Harvard University. I had reached a state where I found it to be hysterically funny. 

The water bottles became lighter and lighter, and things soon went from “half civilized” to “utter nonsense.” 

“To this bar!” Michelle proclaimed loudly. 

“Yeah, that’s right!” I wholeheartedly agreed. “To… Wait, what’s the name of this bar?” 

“Uhh…” Michelle took a gulp of her water bottle. “Something?” 

“Yeah, I know it’s called something,” I laughed. “But what?” 

“It was something Spanish wasn’t it?” Michelle wondered out loud. 

“Was it? Are you sure? I thought it was Italian?” 

“Uhh, guys.” Hannah said flatly and gestured to the menu in front of us. Where the name of the bar was written in large block letters. 

Both Michelle and I laughed hysterically at that. 

“Jeez, remind me to go out and party with you two more often,” Hannah said sardonically. 

“Aww, you sad ‘cause you can’t drink?” Michelle giggled. “We should have taken the bus instead of having you driving.” 

“I didn’t feel like drinking tonight.” 

“Or a taxi,” Michelle continued, oblivious to Hannah’s comment. 

“Or we could have rented a hotel room,” I chirped in. “Hotel Ballard’s got some really soft beds.” 

Michelle giggled again. “And when have you ever been at Hotel Ballard?” 

“I have,” I protested. “But only for one night.” 

Hannah shook her head. “You’re drunk, Celine.” 

“I’ll say,” Michelle agreed and giggled hysterically. “Hotel Ballard. That was a good one, Welles.” 

“I have!” I said firmly and took a swig of the rapidly emptying water bottle. “And now I’m gonna go outside and get some air,” I proclaimed. 

“Have some for me too,” Michelle laughed. 

“Will do.”

“Do you want me to go with you?” Hannah asked.

“Nope, I’ll be fine.” I had a feeling what was coming, and I didn’t need an audience for it.

 

I was shitfaced. Completely and utterly shitfaced. The world was spinning around me. Or maybe it was just my head. 

“Oh my god,” I muttered as I tried to support myself by leaning back against the wall in the back alley. 

My attempt at stabilizing myself didn’t really help. My stomach twisted and turned. I really shouldn’t have had those damn French fries. I barely got the chance to pull my hair away from my face before I was forced to vomit in the dirty, dimly lit back alley. 

I groaned something again as I spit the last of the remaining bile out. Then I carefully rose to my full height. Oh my god, I’m so fucking dizzy. My head was spinning, and I could hear the thudding bass from the music coming from inside the club. I needed to get away from this fucking noise. 

Without actually knowing how it happened, I started walking away from the bar. I didn’t really have a destination. I just had to get away from the noise. That was my main goal. 

The light feelings I’d had at the beginning of the night, was disappearing, and once again, the problems started piling up in my head. 

Harvard University. Allen’s distant attitude. A kiss shared in a Mercedes. Me falling backwards onto a too soft mattress on a hotel room. Cold fingers on my body. My head was exploding. Bang, bang, metal colliding with metal. A plane ticket to Boston. A red velvet couch in a houseboat. Alexandra kissing me. 

Alexandra. Alexandra. Alexandra. Alexandra. Alexandra. Alexandra. 

I nearly stumbled as I crossed the street and walked out on the road. A car honked at me. 

“Calm down, mate!” I yelled. “I’m not in the mood to be hit by a car!” again.

I stumbled onwards until I reached Lake Union and saw all the little floating homes. 

It didn’t take me long to find the place where Alexandra’s houseboat was “docked”. I clumsily hopped aboard. She better not reject me this time, ‘cause I am pissed. And I’ll make sure to tell her that. 

I banged on the door, completely oblivious to the fact that someone else could hear me. Come out, Alexandra. Come out, come out, where ever you are. 

After a few minutes intense banging on the door, I heard movements inside the houseboat and then Greta appeared in the door. 

“Oh hiya,” I grinned before she got the chance to open her pretty mouth. “How’s it going?” 

“Miss Welles, do you have any idea what time it is?” she asked, and that low, raspy voice immediately went straight to my gut. 

“Nope,” I said. “And I don’t care either. We need to talk.” 

“I don’t think so,” Greta said, and I saw how she wrapped her dressing gown a little tighter around herself. 

“Oh yes we do,” I said and giggled hysterically. “Because you suck. Did you know that? You are literally the shittiest person I’ve ever met.” 

Greta’s eyebrow rose at that. “You’re drunk, miss Welles.” 

“Hella,” I said. “But I’m also legally an adult. That means it’s okay for me to be here.” nice one, Welles. Hearing Allen’s in his lawyer test stuff was definitely worth it. 

But Greta didn’t seem too impressed at my lawyer knowledge. “You’re currently trespassing on my property,” she said dryly. 

“Don’t care,” I scoffed. “Because you…” I boldly took a step forward until I was close enough to poke her in the chest if that was what I wanted. “You are screwing with my head!” I bellowed. “I was fine   
before and then you showed up and made me confused!” 

“So, now you’re angry with me?” Greta said dully and raised an eyebrow again. 

“Hell yeah!” I snapped. “Glad you’re so quick to c-catch up.” 

“Interesting. If you’re so angry, then why are you here?” she asked plainly. “Shouldn’t your anger have filled you with the desire to get as far away from me as possible?” 

I couldn’t make sense of what she was saying. I hissed wordlessly at her. 

“As I’ve said once before, miss Welles, I think you should leave.” Greta said. “It’s late and I’m tired.” 

“And I’m angry!” I spat. “You can’t just sleep with me and then ask me to leave like nothing has happened!” 

“Oh for gods sake,” Greta said and grabbed my arm as she pulled me into the houseboat. As soon as the door was slammed, she whirled around and glared at me with her ice blue eyes: “I made myself   
perfectly clear the moment you stepped into that hotel room, miss Welles. I told you it couldn’t be anything else. And you agreed.” 

“Yeah, well, maybe I’ve changed my mind!” 

“You’re drunk.” She said coldly. “I would be better off driving you home this instant.” 

“So why don’t you?” I challenged. 

“Because as it happens, I don’t feel up for driving tonight,” she countered. “As I said, it’s very late and I’m tired.” 

“So am I!” I yelled. “I’m tired of you being in my fucking head all the time!” 

“I’m hardly responsible for your hallucinations, miss Welles.” 

“Fuck you!” 

“Highly unlikely to happen,” she scoffed, completely unaffected by my outburst. 

I wanted to scream in her face, but my anger seemed to have reached a state where I was temporarily mute. 

“Why do you keep nagging me?” Greta asked and folded her arms across her chest. “I’ve already given you what you wanted. Your ability to constantly show up everywhere I go is starting to get ever so   
tiresome.” 

I spluttered indignantly. “You’re the one who are everywhere I go. Like that restaurant yesterday…” 

“You blame too much on a simple coincidence.” 

“You suck!” I roared. 

“Very mature,” Greta mock complimented. “You’ve already said that. Are you done telling me off now? I would like to go back to bed.” 

“Like hell I’m done telling you off!” I snarled. “I’m not done being angry at you!” 

“No? Then by all means, go ahead. I’m right here. And I don’t have any plans until…” she glanced at her watch. “Three in the afternoon tomorrow. That should give you plenty of time.” 

“You fucking.….” I wasn’t sure how that sentence was gonna end. The one moment I was standing in the middle of the room, yelling at her, and the next I was lunging forward. 

Had my intention been to strike her? To try and cause her a bit of the hurt I was feeling right now? Perhaps. But it didn’t exactly go as planned. Instead of connecting my palm with her cheek, my lips   
connected with hers as I kissed her fervently. 

My mind was foggy from the amount of alcohol I’d had tonight, but she was kissing me back. I was sure of that. I could feel it. Could feel the slight pressure from her lips. And I could smell her perfume. 

Coffee and vanilla. Perfect. 

My fingers locked in her soft curls and I didn’t care that I was drunk and probably smelled like a minibar. I didn’t care that I had walked away from my friends. I didn’t care about that I was far from the perfect daughter my mother so wanted me to be. I didn’t care about the Harvard folder lying on my desk, waiting for me. I didn’t care that my anger seemed to vanish in thin air. I just…. I didn’t care. 

I was the one who had started the kiss, but Greta- because I was certain I was kissing Greta and not Alexandra- was the one who ended it. She gently but firmly pushed me away. Her ice blue eyes gleamed but oddly enough I wasn’t afraid that she was gonna throw me out of her houseboat. 

And my complete lack of fear was tightly linked to the fact that Greta’s face and the houseboat was beginning to blur slightly. 

“I feel dizzy,” I moaned. 

“If you’re gonna throw up so help me god….” 

“No,” I groaned and scrabbled for something to hold on to. “It’s not like that.” 

Cold fingers locked around my upper arm. “If you’re going to pass out I would appreciate if you didn’t do it on the floor. I don’t have time to take you to the hospital.” Greta said plainly. 

I tried my best to stay conscious as she dragged my uncooperative body across the floor. I tried to hold it together. I wasn’t sure I had said all the things I wanted to say to her. 

But as soon as I felt my body connect with the soft plush of her velvet couch, I couldn’t keep it together anymore. Everything blurred once more and the last thing I saw before blacking out was Greta standing above me with a scowl on her face.


	21. Chapter Twenty One

Drum solos. Firework exploding. Gunshots. Someone banging on a massive gong-gong. Bang, bang, bang. 

Oh god, I feel horrible. It felt like my head was gonna explode and someone had glued my eyelids together some time during the night. Or so it felt. 

My mouth was completely dry, and I struggled as I tried to peel my tongue from the roof of my mouth. Then I very slowly opened one eye. Then the other. 

The light was definitely too bright. I think I’m dying. My first impulse was to bring my hands up and cradle my head. Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh, I’m never ever gonna drink again. Not ever. 

I was in the process of scolding myself for drinking so much last night, and I swore the only beverage I would touch would be water from now on. Never again. 

Then I realized that I had absolutely no idea where I was. What the hell? I removed one hand from my aching head and placed it on the couch I was lying on. Red. The couch was red. Velvet. So, a red velvet couch. That wasn’t exactly much to go on. I knew lots of people who happened to own a red velvet couch, and I could scarcely imagine having stayed over with any of those people. 

I needed more than that. So I very, very slowly raised my head a bit. Shit. That tiny movement was enough to make the entire room spin. The room I was in was circular, with big windows and- wait a minute, was that water I could see outside? 

I listened for a second. Yep, I could definitely both hear and see water outside. Maybe I wasn’t awake yet. Maybe I was still asleep and in the middle of some weird dream that involved being on the water. 

Clack, clack, clack. 

I groaned and palmed my forehead again as I slowly sat up. Oh god, what IS that sound? I think my head is gonna fucking explode… 

Clack, clack, clack. 

The sound was getting closer, and I clutched my head in an attempt to block the sound out. It sounded like nails on a chalkboard. Someone hammering nails into the walls. Gunshots. An explosion. 

Clack, clack, clack. Right next to me now. 

Oh god, can somebody please make that sound stop?! Now I was sure I was actually dying. 

“Well, well. Risen from the dead, I see.” 

My hungover stricken brain had no problem with identifying that voice. Oh god, no. I was not in the middle of a dream. I was stuck in a nightmare. 

I didn’t know how it had come to be, but I was currently sitting on Greta’s couch. In Greta’s houseboat. I didn’t want to open my eyes and make it real quite yet. I was too busy wondering how the hell I   
had ended up here. What HAPPENED last night? 

A soft thud made me flinch and I finally opened my eyes. There was a glass of water standing on the coffee table in front of me. And next to the glass, two white tablets. 

I blinked once and rubbed a hand over my eyes. My fist came away black. Great. My mascara was smudged. My boots were lying on the floor along with my leather jacket. I frowned. I could understand the jacket, but why I had taken my boots off remained a mystery. And more importantly, how I had managed to take them off. 

And… I patted my pockets. Where’s my phone? I had it yesterday… Didn’t I? Honestly, last night was a bit of a blur, and as I tried to get my foggy brain to cooperate, I finally looked at Greta. 

She was literally representing everything I wasn’t right now. She was wearing a tight, black pinstripe pencil skirt with a matching jacket over her white blouse. And at least six inches of heels- the source for the “clack, clack” noise. 

I almost shrank back in the couch. She looked picture perfect with her impeccable outfit and her flawless hair. And I looked like…. Well, like I had been drinking heavily the night before. 

And I still had no idea how I had ended up here. 

“Drink.” Greta said plainly and nodded towards the glass of water in front of me. “And take the pills. It’s aspirin. Admittedly, they don’t beat the good old “don’t drink” trick, but I think they should suffice for now.” 

And bam, I had been reduced to a scolded school girl. I obediently took the pills and downed the glass of water. 

“What happened…” I began as I sat the empty glass down on the coffee table again. 

But Greta interrupted me. “This is the second time you’ve shown up at my doorstep uninvited, miss Welles.” 

I opened my mouth and then closed it again. Because I had absolutely nothing to say for myself. I couldn’t remember Last Night. Greta could very well be telling the truth. 

“And it’s also the second time you’ve kissed me without having been invited to do so.” Greta informed me emotionlessly. 

I spluttered. Kissed? Kissed? I… What? Did I… Did I kiss her last night? What the…

“I don’t kiss drunk people, miss Welles.” Greta said. “And I certainly don’t enjoy being yelled at either.” 

“Y-yelled?” I squeaked. My face was going crimson. 

“You don’t remember?” she said. “Well, then let me refresh your memory. First, you expressed your anger over what you consented to. That what happened at hotel Ballard was a one time thing with no strings attached. Secondly, you heavily implied that you had “changed your mind”. I don’t exactly know what that means, but I’m guessing it means you want more.” 

My mouth fell open and I just stared at her. Unable to say anything. 

“I don’t know how much of it was just drunken nonsense,” Greta continued. “But let me be perfectly clear with you, miss Welles: I have already given you what you wanted, what you desired. There’s   
absolutely no reason to want more.” 

I opened my mouth a second time but didn’t say anything this time either. Because I was beginning to remember Last Night. And I didn’t like what I remembered. 

“You’re very angry when you’re drunk,” Greta commented. “Are you always that angry, or was it especially for me?” 

“I’m not…” my voice broke. “I’m not angry with you.” 

“Could have fooled me,” Greta said dryly. 

“I’m really so….” 

“Perhaps it is I who should apologize,” Greta interrupted. “Maybe hotel Ballard was a mistake after all.” She turned around and clack clack’ed into the kitchen. 

A mistake? A MISTAKE? I don’t think….

“You probably want to freshen up. You know where the bathroom is. There’s an extra toothbrush in the cabinet. Don’t touch anything else,” Greta said and interrupted my train of thoughts. 

I slowly rose from the couch. The carpet was soft against my bare feet. I looked at my boots and once again wondered how I had managed to take them off.

Greta followed my gaze and I could have sworn I heard her chuckle dryly as she said: “I took those off you. I don’t allow shoes on my couch.” 

“Right.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say. I wobbled across the floor and over to the stairs. But I swallowed something as I waited for a second with one foot on the first step. 

“I don’t regret it,” I said quietly. 

“Pardon?” 

“I don’t… I don’t regret what happened at hotel Ballard.” I said.

I didn’t doubt for a second that Greta had heard what I said, but she didn’t react to it in any way, so I slowly walked upstairs and held on to the railing. My head was still spinning and falling to my death   
from the stairs was not on my to do list today. 

One look at myself in Greta’s bathroom mirror and my suspicion was confirmed. I looked exactly as terrible as I felt. My hair was a mess of wild curls, my lipstick was everywhere but, on my lips, and my mascara was smudged and pretty much smeared all over my cheeks. 

Was it really worth it? I silently wondered as I washed my face in the sink. Had last nights fun really been worth this morning’s hell? 

Nope, probably not. 

There was indeed an extra toothbrush in the cabinet and I felt every bit grateful for having the possibility to brush my teeth. My mouth smelled like something had curled up and died in there. I brushed until Greta’s probably expensive toothpaste foamed in my mouth. then I washed my mouth thoroughly. Just in case. 

I felt a little better now that I had a more pleasant taste in my mouth but washing my face hadn’t exactly helped on the smudged mascara. If anything it had made it worse. I looked like a raccoon. If I went outside like this, people would undoubtedly stare at me. And I wasn’t exactly interested in that. 

No, I needed makeup remover and cotton pads. The cotton pads were already lying on the shelf above the sink, but I couldn’t see any makeup remover. 

Greta had told me not to touch anything else, but I decided to take that warning with a grain of salt. I couldn’t go out looking like this. I couldn’t go out looking like a fucking raccoon. 

So, I wiped the toothbrush and put it back in the cabinet on the right. Then I opened the cabinet on the left. I had clearly come to the right place. The cabinet was packed with makeup. And at the very far   
back of the cabinet, I found the makeup remover. I wasn’t even planning on poking around, but as I plucked the bottle of makeup remover out of the cabinet, I accidentally brought something else with me. 

The little bottle landed on the floor with a clatter. The lid didn’t come off, so I had no possibility of telling which kind of pills there was inside, but as the daughter of a doctor, I knew those weren’t allergy tablets. 

I wonder what those are for? I quickly grabbed the little bottle and weighed it in my hand. It wasn’t very heavy. There couldn’t be many pills left in it. 

I found myself growing irrationally concerned for a moment. The label on the bottle had been peeled off, so there was no way of telling what she was taking them for. I suddenly got a flashback of Greta   
and the way she had been holding on to the sink in Altura’s bathroom. Is she taking these for her anxiety? I wondered. I had been prescribed pills for anxiety after the car accident, and the shape of this   
bottle was kind of similar to the shape of my bottles. 

I pursed my lips slightly as I put the bottle back where I had found it. It wasn’t my business. I had no right to wonder. Or to be concerned for that matter. This was not my problem. 

I dabbed a bit of the clear liquid onto a cotton pad and cleansed my face thoroughly until it was completely free of mascara. Then I left the bathroom and headed towards the stairs. 

When I returned downstairs, Greta hadn’t moved much. She was still standing near the couch, but she was cradling a cup in her hands. 

“Do you want a cup of tea?” she offered with ice cold politeness. 

I winced. Last night, I had felt every right to be angry. I had felt like it was appropriate. 

But today… Today I could see that I actually had no damn right to be angry. Because Greta was right, I had agreed to it being a one time thing with no strings attached. I had fully agreed that it couldn’t be anything else. 

I had no right to be angry. Greta hadn’t lied or cheated in anyway. She had made her intentions clear. And I had agreed to those intentions. 

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry for showing up and yelling at you, and…” I hesitated. Was I sorry for kissing her? 

No, not really. I mean, I definitely regret kissing her with vomit breath, but regretting the kiss itself? Not a chance. Not in a million years. 

“And I should probably apologize for kissing you too,” I quickly rambled off. “But the thing is, I’m not sorry about it. Not really.” 

Greta’s perfectly sculped eyebrow raised. “You certainly don’t make this easy, miss Welles.” 

“Make what easy?” 

A loud screeching from my phone interrupted my question, and I only now registered that the phone was in fact lying on the kitchen table. 

I frowned. How did it end up there? It was in my pocket last night. 

“I’ll bet my shoe collection that’s miss Quinn again,” Greta said calmly and took a sip of her tea. “She was… quite concerned about you last night.” 

I blinked. “You’ve… You talked to Hannah?!” 

Greta shrugged. “Your phone kept blaring every fifth minute. It was impossible to sleep with all that noise, so yes, I answered your phone and informed miss Quinn that you were quite safe and hadn’t, and   
I quote: “Ended up in some creep’s basement”.” 

My mouth fell open with a pop.

“You should probably answer it,” Greta continued. “I don’t think your friend appreciated talking to a stranger instead of you.” 

I quickly grabbed my phone and answered it. “Hannah. Hey.” 

“Thank god!” came Hannah’s relieved voice. “I’ve been so worried about you! What the hell happened? Why did you just leave?!” 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t…” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I didn’t feel good.” Not good enough, Welles. You have to come up with something better. 

“Who was the lady answering your phone?” Hannah demanded. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I assured. “And she’s a… a friend.”

“A friend?” Hannah asked in the other end. “Who is she?”

“Greta,” I said strangled. “You know, the woman you met at that bar a while ago.”

“Greta?” Hannah echoed. “Okay. I didn’t know you were such good friends.” 

I muttered something incoherent. Ha. I’m not sure “friend” is the right label to use. 

“But you’re okay?” Hannah asked again, and concern seeped through her voice.

“Mhmm,” I said halfheartedly. “And Greta lives really close to the bar, so I asked her if it would be okay to crash on her couch. I felt really sick.” 

“Okay…” 

I heard Hannah exhale sharply.

“I’m really sorry, Hannah. I shouldn’t have left. I had too much to drink. Did you and Michelle get home alright?” 

“Yeah, but Michelle’s called Allen.” 

I spluttered. “She did what?” 

“You left the bar in a drunken state, neither Michelle or I could get a hold of you all night, Celine. It was either him, the police or your mom.” 

“Please tell me you didn’t call her.” 

“Don’t worry. We didn’t. And Michelle called Allen and cancelled the emergency after we heard from your friend.” 

“Okay...” I mumbled. Jesus Christ, what a mess. I wondered if I had told Hannah too much already.

“Look, I gotta go,” I said. “I have this really bad headache, and…” 

“Okay. Get some sleep. And don’t read the Harvard folder today,” Hannah advised. 

“Ha, ha. Don’t worry. I won’t.” I neglected to tell her that I wasn’t even home yet. 

I hung up and wondered what to think of Allen’s involvement in last night’s drama. Poor guy. Like I hadn’t put him through enough shit already. Oh god, what a morning. 

“Are you sure you don’t want that cup of tea? You look pale.” Greta observed. 

“Maybe a cup of tea wouldn’t be so bad,” I muttered. 

She quickly poured me a cup of tea. “Can I offer you some breakfast too perhaps?” 

“I don’t think that would be advisable today,” I groaned. I wasn’t interested in throwing up again. 

To my surprise, Greta laughed at my horrible attempt to joke, and I swear that sound was enough to stop world wars. 

Hell, it was almost enough to make me forget why hotel Ballard couldn’t happen again. 

I drank my tea and looked at Greta. “You’re certainly not making this easy, miss Welles” she said. Make what easy exactly? That sentence implied that there was something to make easy, but she had   
insisted that she had already “given me what I wanted”, so exactly what did she mean? 

Greta wasn’t much of help. She sat tight on the velvet couch and looked out of the window. Far off into the distance. 

“Thank you for the tea,” I said as I emptied the cup. 

“You’re welcome.”

“And thank you for letting me stay last night.” 

“I don’t kick people out. I always leave them, not the other way around.” 

I had no problem with understanding what she meant. At the end of an appointment she was probably always the one to leave first. Not the “client”. 

“But it’s the first time I’ve let anyone stay over in my home,” Greta continued. 

I blinked. “Don’t you ever have your friends over?” 

“I don’t have that many friends, miss Welles. I’ve already told you that once.” 

I opened my mouth to express my concern, but Greta beat me to it and laughed a little. 

“It’s self chosen,” she assured me. “I’m perfectly comfortable in my own company.” 

“Don’t you ever get lonely?” I couldn’t imagine my life without Hannah or Michelle. 

“Yes. I do.” Greta admitted. “And I’m afraid I do silly things when I feel lonely.” 

“Like what?” 

“Like…” Greta rose from the couch and took the tea cup from me. “Leaving one of my books behind so someone else could find it and return it to me. Or have a waitress bring someone a cup of coffee at a   
greasy restaurant and hope it would end with conversation.” 

“You... You left the book on purpose that night by the hotel swimming pool?” 

“Yes. As I said, I was lonely.” 

“Was that…” my voice broke. “Was that why “hotel Ballard” happened? Because you were lonely?” 

“No. Leaving a book behind is one thing, but I don’t use people. I didn’t plan on it to happen. But your arrival surprise me, and I wasn’t sure why you were there. So I improvised.” 

I laughed dryly. “You’re one hell of an improviser.” 

“You’d be surprised at how many times it’s necessary when I’m at work.” Greta said. 

I raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“Some of my clients are nervous,” Greta explained. “It’s my job to make sure they’re comfortable.”

“Unauthorized therapist,” I muttered.

“Exactly.” she quickly rinsed the two tea cups in the sink. “Now, can I take you home, miss Welles?” 

“No.” I said shortly. 

Now she was the one who raised an eyebrow. “And why not?” 

“Because if you do that… If you drive me home… I’m not sure what I might do by the end of that car ride,” I admitted. Why bother lying? Greta didn’t seem angry right now. It seemed appropriate to tell the   
truth. 

And to my surprise, Greta chuckled slightly at that. “You’re quite stubborn, aren’t you?” 

“Yeah, I guess I am.” I said and shrugged. “And also horrified because I kissed you with vomit breath last night. That’s not exactly how I want you to remember me.” 

She came around the kitchen island and her ice blue eyes gleamed slightly when she asked: “And how do you want me to remember you?” 

My mouth went dry. My tongue curled and crumbled into dust. 

“The smell of alcohol in your breath didn’t shatter any illusions,” Greta assured with a little smile. 

“No, but what about the smell of vomit then? You’ve probably haven’t kissed a lot of people who smelled of vomit.” The moment the words left my lips, I wanted to hit myself in the head. Did you seriously   
just comment on the number of people she’s kissed?! Jesus, you know very well what she’s doing for a living! 

“You’re right. I haven’t,” Greta answered calmly. “The people I kiss normally have fresh breath.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” 

“No harm done,” she assured. “I’m aware my job is… unusual.” 

And that’s to put it lightly. My face flushed. 

“I’m not ashamed over it,” Greta said. “I see myself as someone who helps lonely people.” 

I had no clue what to say about that. It was obvious that “Pretty Woman” hadn’t educated me properly about this subject. Greta didn’t need to be rescued from her life.

And I was definitely not the heroine who swooped in and saved the day. This wasn’t like in one of my favorite books or movies. 

“You don’t have that much time before the next bus leaves,” Greta commented as she glanced at her wristwatch. 

“Oh. Right. Yeah. I should probably…” I quickly grabbed my booths and slipped them back on. 

“Take it easy on the alcohol the next time,” she advised. “And…” she shot me a look. “Stop hassling me.” 

I had slipped the boots back on and now I grabbed my leather jacket as I rose to my full height. “I don’t know how I do that,” I confessed. 

“That’s self torture miss Welles.” Greta said dully. 

“Maybe I like being tortured.” 

“I doubt it. Only a few people genuinely do, and believe me, you don’t strike me as the type.” 

Was she pulling my leg, or was she referring to… something else? I blushed crimson again. 

“Now leave,” she said gently. “And don’t come back.”

But her words contradicted her actions. She brought one hand up and brushed a stray curl behind my ear. 

“Okay.” I said completely unconvincing. Because how was I supposed to stay away? 

“Don’t come back,” she warned as her cold hand cupped my cheek. 

“I won’t.” another lie. 

“I can’t give you anything,” she reminded me. Her hand was still cupping my cheek. 

“Who says I’m after anything?” 

“Your eyes.” 

“They lie.” I said hoarsely. 

“So you have no illusions?” 

“None.” 

She leaned in and kissed me. Just like that, and completely unexpected. But I was more than happy to go with it. I closed my eyes and inhaled her scent deeply into my lungs. She was my oxygen. At least, for right now. 

My memories of the kiss we’d shared last night were foggy, but I was sure it hadn’t been this gentle. This soft. Greta wasn’t angry right now. And neither was I. No, this kiss was soft, so soft. So sweet, so   
delicate. Like a soap bubble.

I wanted it to last longer. I didn’t want it to stop. Ever. But much too soon, Greta broke the contact between us and took a step back. The bubble bursted.

“There. Now I won’t think of alcohol when I think of you,” she quipped. “Now I’ll remember you like this instead. Is that better?” 

I nodded wordlessly and came closer to her. I wanted to kiss her again. 

But Greta shook her head and laughed a little. “Your bus,” she reminded me. 

Why can’t I just stay?

“Now leave,” she repeated.

“Okay… Greta.” 

“Alexandra.” She corrected. 

“Why…...” I began, but she cut me off:

“It’s easier.” She said. “Everything else would be complicated, and we don’t want that, do we? As you said, you have no illusions.” 

“I haven’t,” I said. As long as there was a “we” I was willing to agree to just about anything. 

“See you around, miss Welles,” she said, indicating that the conversation was over. 

I was dizzy when I left, and it had very little to do with the hangover. Last night I had come here in a drunken rage and had ended up kissing her, and now… Now she had basically told me to come back. 

And that kiss. I couldn’t keep up, and I felt giddy. 

But a tiny, annoying voice also told me that I was walking on thin ice. That I was getting roped in. 

I scoffed as I shoved the little annoying voice into the back of my head. Maybe I didn’t care that I was getting roped in. Maybe I didn’t care that this was one hell of a sidetrack. 

Maybe I was fully prepared to be roped in by Alexandra. Maybe I just wanted her to touch me again. Maybe nothing else mattered. 

Maybe getting drunk hadn’t been a half bad idea after all. 

That made me grin as I hopped onto the bus.


	22. Chapter Twenty Two

I didn’t think of Harvard. Or of pending tours around campus. 

I even forgot how awful my headache was.

My mind was swirling after the kiss I’d shared with Gre… Alexandra. For whatever reason she had changed her mind and wanted to see me again. I wasn’t quite sure what had prompted her to change her mind, but if it meant she would touch me again, I wasn’t about to ask any questions. 

Have no illusions. I wasn’t naïve. I knew exactly what that meant. I knew exactly what that deal meant. No strings attached. 

For some reason I found that shockingly easy to live with. I was yet to forget our first night at Hotel Ballard. The way she had touched me was still lingering in my mind. 

I wanted nothing more than to go back the very next day, but life happened. It was frustrating, but I couldn’t go straight back to Greta’s houseboat. After celebrating my eighteenth’s birthday, it was very much back to the old routine. And that included homework. Loads of it. Graduation was getting closer, and that put extra pressure on all of us. 

Maybe that was why I was getting a headache again when I the following Friday left the school along with Hannah and Michelle. We had sorted things out and they had both forgiven me for “bailing” on them.

“I’m definitely complaining over this,” Michelle muttered. 

“Over what?” I yawned. Maybe partying and drinking hadn’t been the smartest idea, considering how much homework we had. 

“The amount of homework.” 

“Oh.” 

“It’s senior year, Michelle,” Hannah said and brushed her bronze red hair away from her face. 

“Yeah, thank god.” Michelle said. “I can’t wait until it’s over.” 

“So, you’re not gonna apply for university?” I asked. 

“No way,” Michelle scoffed. “I’m getting out of here. This time next year, I’ll be in Bahamas, sipping a colorful drink.” 

“That sounds good.” I muttered. ¨

Hannah shot me a concerned look. “Have you talked to your mom about it?” 

“Nope,” I sighed. None of us ever said the word “Harvard”, we settled for referring to it as “it”. Calling it Harvard would only make it real. And I really, really didn’t want that. I was still looking for a way out. 

“She can’t just make you go, can she?” Michelle wondered out loud. 

“Not if I can prevent it,” I said. “I thought turning eighteen would change things, but she’s still trampling all over my wishes.” 

“Are you considering other options?” Hannah asked. 

“Several,” I said gravely. “One of them being taking my good clothes and getting out of the house…”

“My door’s always open,” Michelle interjected.

“…But that would only be a temporarily solution to a big problem,” I sighed. “I wouldn’t be able to prevent her from showing up at your place and cause a major scene. Or maybe even call the police.” 

“I’d like to her see her try,” Michelle half-chuckled. “But seriously, Celine. You’re eighteen. What can she do?”

“Probably not a lot,” I agreed. “But still, I don’t want to cause trouble for you and your mom. It wouldn’t be fair.” 

Mother’s little “Harvard surprise” had put another strain on our relationship, and this time I didn’t know what to do. Running away to live at Michelle or Hannah’s wasn’t gonna work, and I couldn’t afford   
to get my own place. I had recently traded my job at the cinema for babysitting at night and occasionally tutoring. It paid off nicely, but an apartment was out of the question. 

Unfortunately. I simply didn’t know how to solve the latest issue between me and my mother. And time was running out. The planned tour at Harvard University was only so long away, and time was ticking. My mother was certain I would get the stamp of approval right away. Which meant moving to Boston and begin at university right after next summer. 

I scoffed quietly. You would believe that the car accident had given me this big, inspirational courage to become a doctor. But medicine had simply never been my thing. And it never would be. 

But telling my mother that…. I would rather negotiate with a T-rex. 

I had an inkling that our fragile family bond was reacting some sort of turning point, but there was nothing I could do. Not this time. This time I refused to bow down. I wasn’t gonna be the next doctor   
Welles. 

I sighed again. It was like waiting for a thunderclap or a storm. You know it was gonna come, and there was nothing you could do to prevent it. 

Both Michelle and Hannah shot me a concerned look. 

“I’m fine,” I assured. 

“Maybe she’ll come around,” Hannah said. 

I snorted a little. “In all the time you’ve known my mother, has she ever come around?” 

Hannah grimaced. 

“Exactly.” I muttered. My mother was not the coming around type. She could hold a grudge for both weeks and months. And who knows, maybe even for years. Maybe she’ll hate me for the rest of her life   
when she finds out I’m gonna reject Harvard. 

That thought made my stomach heavy. I could live with her disapproving me. I had done that before, but could I live with the fact that she hated me? My own mother? Is blood really thicker than water?

Sometimes I seriously doubted that old saying. If that was the case, she would support me more. She would understand my choices and not force her own ideas upon me. 

I scoffed again. I’d like to punch the person who invented the saying: “Living in your mother’s shadow.” That statement was definitely to be taken very literal when it came to my mother and me. 

My musings were interrupted by the screeching coming from my phone, and as I retrieved it from my pocket, I first dreaded that it was actually my mother, inquiring about my whereabouts. Again. 

But I didn’t recognize the number on the screen, so instead of putting the phone on “mute” like I sometimes did, I answered the phone. 

“Hello?”

“Miss Welles,” came the familiar, raspy voice in the other end. 

I almost dropped the phone, but I tried my best to hold it together. “H-hi.” 

“What are you doing?” Alexandra asked in the other end. 

“Uh… I’m on my way home from school,” I said lamely and wondered how she had found my number. It wasn’t listened anywhere. 

“I see. Are you busy today?” she asked silkily. 

“No, not really.” I had managed to get on top of things with my homework. 

“So you’re free tonight?”

“Yeah. I am. Why?” I asked. My curiosity was roused. 

“I am at the Four Season hotel tonight. Perhaps you’d like to come and join me for dinner?” Alexandra asked. 

Dinner? Really? That wasn’t exactly what I had expected, and a little voice in the back of my head informed me that it didn’t sound like “no illusions” and “no strings attached”. That sounded like a da….

No, shut up. That’s not what she said AT ALL. You’re jumping the conclusions here. 

“Miss Welles? Have I just made a highly inappropriate suggestion?” Alexandra asked in the other end. 

“No, not at all.” I rushed to assure her and was glad Hannah and Michelle couldn’t hear her part of the conversation. I bit back a chuckle. How could she think this was an inappropriate suggestion? 

“I’d like that.” I said. 

“Excellent. Shall we say seven o’clock? Room 315. Ninth floor.” 

“Great.” 

“See you then, miss Welles.” 

“Bye.”

She offered no goodbye; instead I just heard a click and then she was gone. I was left wondering what had spurred this. How could she suddenly have gone from “I can give you nothing” to offering me   
dinner. Offering me dinner was giving me something, wasn’t it? 

“Who was that?” Michelle asked. 

I hesitated for a moment. How much could I tell? What would be smart to tell, and what wouldn’t? I had to tell them something. I couldn’t just say “no one”. 

So, I decided to go with the truth. Or, at least a part of it. 

“It was Greta.” I could tell them that. It wasn’t a harmful piece of information. 

“Oh. Your nightly rescuer,” Hannah joked.

“Yep.” I said halfheartedly. If that aint the truth.

“What did she want?” Michelle asked briskly. 

“Oh, uhmm… She’s helping me with some homework. You know, if I asked my mother she would give me a lecture, and if I asked a teacher, my mother would find out and assume I was falling behind, so   
to spare myself that…” 

“You went to somebody else.” Michelle nodded. “Smart woman.” 

“Yes, aren’t I?” I joked. 

Smart woman indeed. That’s the most spontaneous lie I’ve ever told. 

On the way home in the bus, I googled the Four Season’s hotel, and it soon became obvious that it was another luxury hotel. Probably even more luxurious than Hotel Ballard. 

Now I was panicking for other reasons. I knew this wasn’t a “date”, but it was still a meeting on a luxury hotel. What the hell am I supposed to wear to a luxury hotel? Definitely not that horrible pink dress. 

Hell would freeze over before I wore that again.

 

*****

 

I panicked a little about that when I got home. Suddenly, all of my clothes seemed wrong. Suddenly, I found myself wishing that my wardrobe didn’t only consist of ripped jeans and tanktops and beanies. I wished that I had something a bit more sophisticated. I snorted. Sophisticated? Me? Yeah right. And Big Foot is real.

Oh, well. I still had plenty of time to figure out what to wear. Right now, all my mother’s warnings echoed in my head, so I opened my laptop and started to manically do tomorrow’s homework. I was terrified at falling behind. I had tried that last year. There was about two months after the car accident where I hadn’t been able to do my homework. Or anything else for that matter. My broken legs had healed, and my concussion had mended itself, but the emotional trauma after the accident had been tougher to get rid of. I had been a shell. An insomnia tormented zombie who couldn’t focus on anything. And that’s why I had fallen behind at school. Because my mind was still focusing on the accident and re-living the trauma. 

I rubbed a hand over my forehead as I finished the essay. Deep down, I knew I still wasn’t finished “mending”. The scars on my legs had faded, but the emotional scaring was still there. My mother’s “let’s not talk about it and pretend it never happened”-method hadn’t worked as intended. 

Maybe I needed to talk about it. Maybe I needed to acknowledge that it had happened. That I hadn’t been paying attention to the road for five seconds. And those five seconds had been enough. 

But my mother insisted that we didn’t talk about it. That I wasn’t responsible in any way.

And arguing with her about that…. No thanks. Pretty soon, I was gonna argue with her for entirely different reasons. That had to be enough. One battle at the time.

I saved the essay and emailed it straight to my teacher. Then I opened a Word Document. When it came to writing, about Greta/Alexandra, I just couldn’t help myself. 

The day passed quickly. I didn’t see my mother. She was pulling another twenty four hour shift at the hospital. That suited me fine. That way I didn’t have to come up with ridiculously complicated lies to explain my whereabouts. It was bad enough that I was lying to my friends. 

For some reason I felt heavily inspired by “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” as I got dressed. I ended up wearing the black, plain dress I had worn on my birthday. Yeah, it was a dress, but I didn’t feel uncomfortable in it. Not when wearing it was self chosen and not forced upon me. 

And I actually looked quite good in it. I quickly brushed my hair and considered for a moment. How should I wear it? Up or down? I had a feeling that wearing it in a bun was overdoing it, so I ended up wearing it down as I normally did. Loose and wavy and natural. That was how I liked it best. Apart from my eyes, my hair was definitely one of my best features. It was honey golden and no matter what shampoo I used it was always soft. 

Maybe I shouldn’t wear so many beanies over it all the time, I mused to myself and then chuckled a little. That was what Michelle always told me. And considering it, she was probably right. 

One last brushing and I was done and ready to go. 

Ready to meet Alexandra at Four Season’s hotel. I paused for a second on my way out of my room. Was I crazy? Was I insane for letting her rope me in? 

But the thing is, she’s not. She’s not “roping me in”. I’m going to her voluntarily. That’s completely different. 

I wondered as I left the house and climbed up on my bicycle. Wondered what had caused her to change her mind so suddenly? I knew it was a “hold no illusions”-thing she wanted, but still, going from   
wanting absolutely nothing to do with me to that, was some sort of progress, right? 

Had she just accepted that she couldn’t be rid of me? Or had my eighteenth birthday marked something? Was that why she was more forthcoming? Because I was no longer a minor? 

Somehow, I doubted it. She had had no qualms with sleeping with me when I was a minor. At least not until she had kicked me out of the hotel room. 

Or was the reason just that she was lonely like she said? 

I got a flashback to the way she had spent her birthday as I cycled down the street. She had definitely looked lonely at that coffee house with a cup of tea to celebrate the date. 

She probably didn’t need my pity, but I actually felt sorry for her. I couldn’t imagine spending my birthday alone. 

I rounded a corner on my bicycle. Cycling was definitely faster, but maybe I should have taken the bus anyway. The air was a bit chilly. I couldn’t wait to get inside. 

*********

And exactly 2,3 miles later I parked my bicycle in front of Four Seasons hotel. Damn. One of these days I would stop being impressed every time I saw a luxury hotel. But today was not one of these days. 

I went into the grand lobby. The hotel clerk looked up briefly and greeted me with a “good evening, miss”, but apart from that, he didn’t pay any attention to me. Maybe I blended in a little in my black dress. 

Room 315, ninth floor. I pushed the elevator button and didn’t even have to wait thirty seconds before the doors opened and I could step inside and press another button. The elevator doors closed with a soft buzzing. I was grateful there weren’t anyone else in the elevator. That would probably have made me even more anxious. I didn’t need an audience to be nervous in front. 

I sighed. This felt very déjà vu. I could suddenly see myself sneak into Hotel Ballard, ready to give Alexandra a piece of my mind. 

I chuckled a little. That was not at all how the thing had played out. And I wasn’t angry this time. Instead my stomach was full of butterflies and swimming with anticipation.

The elevator stopped with another soft buzzing sound and I quickly went down the hallway. Room 250, 260, 280.... 300.... 310. I stopped. There it was. Room 315. There it was. 

I took a deep, calming breath. Relax Celine. Then I knocked on the door. And as soon as I had done it, I cringed. The sound was too loud and sharp. It sounded like a fucking elephant trampling around. 

I didn’t have to wait and be nervous for long. And more importantly, I didn’t have to knock a second time. The door was swiftly opened and Gre... No, Alexandra, because this was definitely Alexandra,   
appeared on the threshold. And she was smiling. At me. 

“Miss Welles,” she drawled, and that raspy, breathless voice immediately made the butterflies in my stomach evolve into one big butterfly. 

“Hello.” I said lamely. 

“Good to see you again,” Alexandra said. “Are you hungry?” 

“Yeah.” But my appetite had just gone down the drain. Food was probably the last thing on my mind right now. Alexandra looked absolutely beautiful. She was wearing a black dress like me, but as   
opposed to me, she knew how to wear it. The length on our dresses was probably the same. But seeing her in a dress that ended just above the knee was something quite different than seeing myself in it. 

I tried to swallow. 

“You look nice,” Alexandra said spontaneously. “I like your dress.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Shall we go downstairs and get something to eat?” she suggested.

“Sounds good.” 

“Just give me a moment.” She disappeared into the room again, and a second later I heard water running. But I didn’t get much chance to speculate about it. She returned so swiftly I quickly forgot all   
about it. 

“Shall we?” she said.

“Yeah.” 

We headed into the elevator and Alexandra smiled at me. “I’m happy you had time to join me for dinner.” 

“Anytime.” I replied. And I meant it. 

She raised an eyebrow. “Anytime, miss Welles? Aren’t you terrible busy with school at the moment?” 

I shrugged. “I’ll manage.” 

“Hmm.” 

I tried to keep my jaw in place as the elevator stopped and we reached the restaurant. This place was exactly as posh as the Fairmont hotel. I couldn’t know about Hotel Ballard. I had never been in the   
restaurant. Only in Alexandra’s room. My stomach tightened suddenly at the memory. 

A sleek waiter flashed us an even sleeker smile as he said, “good evening” and pointed us to a table in the corner of the restaurant. I liked that. It was sort of private. And if there was one thing I wanted   
tonight, it was privacy. Privacy and a chance to really talk with Alexandra. That wasn’t against her unspoken rule, right? She would allow me to learn just a little about her, wouldn’t she? 

We sat down at the table and Alexandra asked me what I wanted to drink. 

“Just water, thanks.” 

As summoned, the waiter showed up again. 

“Two glasses of water with ice.” Alexandra said. 

“We have a special deal on our champagne tonight...” 

“I don’t drink,” Alexandra interrupted. “And neither does she. Just water, please.” 

“As you wish, ma’am.” 

“Miss,” Alexandra corrected quietly as he walked away. 

I chuckled slightly and took a look at the menu in front of me. The food here looked very nice. And expensive. I flushed. 

“Uhhh, Alexandra?” I mumbled. 

“Yes?” 

“The food is a little...pricey,” I said vaguely. 

Alexandra just shrugged and pushed a curl behind her ear. “It’s my treat, miss Welles. Consider it a birthday present.” 

“You don’t have to...” 

“I want to,” she interrupted. “Think of it as an apology for being brusque with you the other day at the hotel.” 

The other day at the hotel. I was amazed she was capable of being so nonchalant about something that had changed so much for me. 

“Now, what do you want to eat?” she said and glanced at her own menu. “Any special requests?” 

“Not really. I can’t pronounce most of the food.”

Alexandra laughed, and her ice blue eyes sparkled. “Have you ever tried oysters, Celine?” 

That very nearly threw me off. This was the first time she had used my first name tonight, and I already wanted to hear my name out of her mouth again, but then I remembered that she was waiting for an   
answer. 

“Nope. Can’t say that I have. But I’m guessing you have.” 

“Yes, indeed.” Alexandra confirmed. “And they taste quite good.” 

“Okay.” 

“Are you willing to try something new?” she inquired. “I assure you, it’s delicious.” 

“I’m all for trying new things.” Wow. Nice. That didn’t sound wrong or anything. 

But Alexandra just chuckled, and her ice blue eyes gleamed once more. She quickly caught the waiter’s attention and ordered oysters for both of us. 

“Cheers,” she said as she raised her glass of water. 

“Cheers.” I couldn’t help but smile as our glasses clinked together. 

“And happy birthday,” she added. 

“Thanks.” 

“How is adulthood treating you so far?” she asked as she took a small sip of water. 

“I guess it could be better,” I said spontaneously. I was a little distracted at the way the tip of her tongue darted out and licked the remains of water off her upper lip. 

“How come?” Alexandra asked and raised an eyebrow. 

I shrugged lightly. “I kinda... got an unwanted present that could have influence on my entire future.” 

She frowned. “I think you have to explain that to me.” 

I sighed as I noted how easy it was for me to spill my guts to her. But it was probably not new to her. Alexandra was most likely used to people confiding in her and sharing stuff with her. Unauthorized   
therapist. 

“My mother wants me to become a doctor,” I began. 

“Yes, I remember.” Alexandra nodded. “But you don’t like hospitals.” 

“Yes, that’s right,” I said, ever so slightly amazed that she could remember a conversation we’d had two months ago. 

“You wanted to write, isn’t that right?” 

“Yeah,” I confirmed and thought of those secret documents I had already written. About her.

“Have you told your mother that?” 

I laughed humorlessly. “That’s not how things work between me and my mother. She dictates, and I do as she wants. It’s easier that way.” 

“It doesn’t sound easy.” Alexandra commented. “And if you don’t want to be a doctor...” 

“I’m not really sure how to break it to her,” I admitted. “I mean, I know she’s just trying to look after my future, but I’ve never wanted to go to Harvard and become a doctor...” 

“Harvard?” Alexandra interrupted. “That’s rather impressive, miss Welles.” 

“I guess it is. But it’s not what I want,” I muttered. “I want the freedom to choose.” 

“Your career should be your decision. Whatever you choose.” 

“To me it doesn’t matter whether I end up as a writer or producer or bus driver or plumber...” 

“Plumber?” Alexandra interrupted and let out a little fruity laugh that nearly distracted me again.

“Yeah, I mean... Why not?” I grinned, but then grew serious again: “My point is, I don’t care what I end up doing. I just want to be happy.” 

“I think that’s a fairly modest wish.” 

“What about you?” I asked to change the subject. “Where did you end up once you finished high school?” 

“I went to Princeton.” Alexandra said and took a sip of her water. 

I blinked. “Princeton?” Damn. That’s prestigious. But then again, everything about her radiated sophistication. Of course she had gone to some fancy university. Of course she had.

“I was lucky to get in,” Alexandra said. 

Somehow, I doubted that luck had very little to do that. I didn’t know much about Princeton, but I did know that they didn’t let in people who hadn’t got the right grades. 

“What did you study?” I asked curiously. I was eager to learn more about her. 

“Psychology,” Alexandra said with a little glint in her eyes. 

I stared at her. So the ”unauthorized therapist” wasn’t a complete joke after all. She had actually studied the subject.

“Then why are you....” I trailed off. I couldn’t exactly say the word “escort” in the middle of this hotel. 

“I ran into some difficulties along the way,” Alexandra said. “Money was required.”

“I see.” Was that why she did what she did? Was that why she had turned to the escort business? For money? 

I knew better than to ask her about right now, and my musings were interrupted when our food arrived. 

I felt overwhelmed as I looked at the tray with oysters, sauce and lemon slices. It looked delicious, I was willing to agree with that, but I had never tried oysters before, and it suddenly occurred to me that I   
had no clue how to eat them. What was I supposed to do? Scoop it out of the shell and stuff it into my mouth? 

I looked at Alexandra and silently begged for help. She was the expert here. 

And Alexandra laughed again. “It’s not that hard,” she promised me. “Just watch me.” 

Gladly, I thought to myself before I could stop the thought forming. 

“Firstly, you choose an oyster,” Alexandra said. “If it’s the first time you’re having oysters, I do recommend the smallest one. Like so.” she took a small oyster between her thumb and first two fingers and   
placed it on her own plate. 

I did the same and tried my best to mirror what she did. 

“Then you take a slice of lemon,” Alexandra continued. “And squeeze it over the oyster.” 

I did that too, but I was sure she looked way more graceful than I. 

“Excellent. And then you add a little sauce. Not too much. You don’t want your oyster to swim in it, or potentially have it drip down your chin while you eat.” 

I chuckled slightly as I added a very small amount of sauce. 

“And now for the tricky part,” Alexandra said and smirked a little as she took the little fork the waiter helpfully had provided us with. “Gently pry the oyster away from its shell. Do it carefully and without   
poking it. You don’t want to cut into the oyster itself. All you have to do is simply loosen at the areas where it’s still secured to the shell.” 

I frowned as I picked up my own fork and did as she instructed. It wasn’t actually too difficult. 

“And for the grand finale,” Alexandra half chuckled. “You lift the oyster with your fork and place it directly onto your tongue. Hold it there for a moment to get a feeling of what it tastes like. Like so.” 

I watched and felt how my mouth went rather dry when Alexandra placed the oyster on her tongue, and then swallowed it gracefully. 

“Your turn,” Alexandra said. 

I quickly placed the oyster on my tongue and blushed ferociously. She was looking directly at me and her ice blue gaze almost burned me. 

“I don’t recommend chewing on it the first time,” Alexandra said. “That might throw you off a bit.” 

I just nodded in response and swallowed the oyster whole. 

“Very good,” Alexandra praised. “Your first oyster. You should have no problem with the rest of the meal.” 

And to my surprise, I didn’t. Eating oyster was actually surprisingly easy once you got the hang of it. As long as I avoided all eye contact with Alexandra. 

 

*******

 

After the dinner we walked back to the elevator. 

“Thank you for the dinner. You didn’t have to.” I said. 

Alexandra smiled. “It was a pleasure dining with you. I enjoy your company.” 

“Likewise.” 

Alexandra glanced at her watch. “It’s getting a bit late, miss Welles.” 

“Is it?” I frowned as I quickly found my phone in my pocket and looked at it. Nine thirty. It wasn’t that late, but of course, if I included the bike ride home, it was a little late.

“Is anyone expecting you home tonight?” Alexandra inquired. 

“No.” My mother wouldn’t be home until tomorrow afternoon and tomorrow was Saturday. No school.

“Then perhaps you would like to come back to my room?” 

My stomach flipped immediately, and the blush rose in my cheeks. Oh my god. Fuck. My imagination was already in free fall. 

“Yes. I would like that.” I said and hoped my voice didn’t sound as fragile as I feared.


	23. Chapter Twenty Three

My first impulse when Alexandra opened the door to her room was to gape. 

Because Jesus Christ, this was not just any old room. It was even fancier than the one at Hotel Ballard. 

It was actually more of a little apartment than a room. A giant living room with two enormous couches. A fireplace so big it was ridiculous. There even was a dining space with chairs, and a large table where bouquets of flowers were sat. 

One could wonder why she had suggested we headed down to the restaurant. We could have had dinner here. 

But maybe she already had dinner here. With one of her clients. 

I pursed my lips slightly at that unwelcome thought. And then I reminded myself that I had no business being jealous.

“It’s called Governor’s Suite,” Alexandra said. 

“Okay.” I wondered what kind of person it was that could afford a room like this. probably some hotshot... 

“Would you like to see the rest of it?” Alexandra asked. 

“Sure.” 

“Follow me.” 

I did, and she presented me with a ridiculous big bathroom with double vanity and an unbelievable bathtub. Everything in here was in marble, there was orchids in the window sills and the most amazing   
view to the water from the window. 

“I’ve seen worse bathrooms,” I commented. 

That elicited a beautiful chuckle from Alexandra. “So have I.” 

And then there was the bedroom. Compared to the rest of the place it was actually fairly...... Normal. Well, the bed was certainly large enough, but there was nothing lavished about it. There were two nightstands, a closet and that was it. The curtains were drawn, like they had been on Hotel Ballard, and- I immediately picked up on that- the bed was made. And not just in the quick, messy way I did every morning. But finical and with laser sharp perfection. The bedspread was lying perfectly without any creases, and the pillows were placed with lineal perfection. If I didn’t know any better, I would say that no one had slept in this bed.

I remembered Alexandra’s comment. It’s not necessarily about sex every time. And it would appear that sex hadn’t been the case this time either. 

“Something on your mind, miss Welles?”

I turned around at Alexandra’s voice and found her sitting on one of the plushy chairs, in the process of taking off her high heels. 

There were several things on my mind right now, but I decided to go with my first impulse. “I really wish you would call me Celine,” I said. 

“Why?” Alexandra asked plainly and took off her other shoe. 

“Miss Welles sounds so.... Formal.” And honestly, it reminded me of my mother. Most people called her “Doctor Welles”, but some said “Miss Welles”. Only few people like doctor Garnett were bold enough   
to call her “Maura”. 

“Very well then, Céline.” She drawled, only a bit mockingly as she wiggled her feet slightly.

Had it been anyone else, I would have corrected them and said that my name wasn’t supposed to be pronounced in French, but Alexandra’s pronunciation was flawless. I already knew that from the time I   
had overheard her speak French over the phone, and I came to wonder whether she had ever been in France. Then I scoffed. I’d say it’s VERY possible she has. Of course she has been in France at least once. 

I was pulled out of my musings when I noticed that she had moved. She was no longer sitting on the chair. Instead she was standing behind me. I could feel her sweet breath on the back of my neck. My shoulders tightened instinctively. 

“You’re nervous,” Alexandra commented. 

“Yes.” 

“Why?” 

“I...” I seemed to have lost my ability to form a coherent sentence.

“Is it me?” she asked as her cold fingers swept my hair from my neck. “Am I making you nervous?” 

“Yes.” I said plainly. 

“And why is that miss... Céline?” 

There was that damned French accent again. For someone who spoke English fluently, her French accent was spot on. 

“You’re kinda... Intimidating,” I said and tried to breathe normally. 

Alexandra laughed, and that sound was even better. Her cold fingers brushed against my neck again. 

“Why are your hands always so cold?” I asked spontaneously. 

“Poor circulation, I’m afraid. The only solution would be to stick them into a fireplace,” Alexandra said. 

I laughed surprised. What, she remembers the lousy joke I once made?

But the next second, nothing was funny anymore. Alexandra moved so she was now in front of me. Her cold fingers connected with my cheek as she lightly cupped it. “Are you still nervous, Céline?” she asked. The French pronounce was apparently a thing now. 

“No? Yes? I don’t know? What’s the correct answer?” 

“Who says there is one?” she asked softly. Then she leaned in slightly. Our lips connected, and I quickly forgot her cryptic answer. The world shrank around me until it only consisted of this hotel room. Of   
Alexandra. 

And Alexandra’s fingers were soon nestled in my hair as she pulled me just a little bit closer. 

My fingers skated down to rest on her hips, and I suddenly realized that I had no idea how to touch her. I didn’t know how to be near her. 

“I like your dress,” Alexandra said spontaneously. 

“Thanks.”

“You look very pretty in it,” she continued. Her fingers left my hair and I swallowed something when she started playing with the zipper. 

I tried to keep it together as she gently unzipped the dress. Unlike the last time, she didn’t ask for permission to do so, but she and I already knew that this was what I wanted. She needn’t ask. 

The dress landed on the carpet with a soft thud. I immediately looked down. The dress was pooling around my feet. 

“You’re still shy,” Alexandra commented. 

Yes. I am. And you’re still dressed. 

“You shouldn’t be. You look pretty without the dress too,” she said, and I could have sworn I heard that bubbling amusement in her voice. 

She leaned forward again, but our lips didn’t connect this time. Instead my head instantly lolled back when she kissed my neck. I could feel her in places she hadn’t even touched yet. She kissed the side   
of my neck. I swallowed and sunk my teeth into my bottom lip. 

Speaking of teeth.... Alexandra’s kisses had gone unmistakably sharp. My eyes snapped open (when did I even close them?) and I shot her a look.

“Did you just bite me?” I asked, slightly befuddled. 

“I did,” she confirmed calmly and flashed me a little playful smile. “Do you think you’ll survive it?” 

I honestly wasn’t sure about that. There were several things I liked about the feeling of her teeth scraping against my skin. 

She laughed. “You looked positively shocked, miss Welles. It’s too early for that. I still have plenty of other ways to shock you.” 

I’m sure you do. I’m absolutely certain. I was very interested in hearing about those “other ways”, but Alexandra interrupted every last of my unspoken questions. 

“Aren’t you gonna lie down?” she suggested.

That seemed like a pretty good idea. My legs were turning into jelly. I clumsily stepped out of the dress and wobbled over to the bed. Well, there goes the tidiness, I thought to myself as I laid down on the   
bed. I almost felt bad about ruining the neatly made bed. 

But Alexandra appeared to have very few qualms about messing up the bed. Within seconds, she was sitting on the edge of the bed. Her fingertips grazed my ankles as she undid the straps in my booths and then pulled them off my feet. 

“No shoes in the bed,” she quipped lightly. 

I would have laughed if I could. But the way she was suddenly hovering above me with one palm flat on either side of me was a little too distracting. I could smell her shampoo and her perfume. 

Her icy blue eyes gleamed as she dipped down and kissed me again. She was less gentle this time as she nipped at my bottom lip, but I didn’t mind that at all. What I did mind however, was the fact that she was still dressed. I raised my arms, placed my palms flatly against her back for a second and then I started fiddling with the zipper in her dress.

Alexandra swiftly caught my hand and pressed a light kiss to my palm. “Let’s make this about you tonight.” 

“But why...” 

She didn’t let me finish. Instead she kissed me again and I completely trailed off when she placed my hand on her dress covered breast. This was the most she had ever let me touch her. Maybe this was her way of compromising. 

I shuddered as her lips connected with my neck again. Keep that up and I’ll forget my name in a second. 

Her kisses travelled lower and lower and I helpfully arched my back as her fingers reached in between me and the mattress and unclasped my bra. I didn’t even dare look at her as she slid the straps down   
my shoulders and then tossed the garment on the floor. 

“Beautiful.” She stated plainly. 

I swallowed. I had only been called beautiful a handful of times. Some of the times had mattered, some of them hadn’t. But none of those times could quite compare to hearing the word out of Alexandra’s mouth. 

I settled for flashing her a smile. My voice was failing me. 

“You’re not nervous anymore,” Alexandra commented. “Good. Anxiety isn’t what I had in mind for tonight.” she ran a finger down my stomach and my muscles instantly flexed under the touch. 

She smirked slightly and brushed a curl behind her ear. I almost scoffed. Incredibly. I had a feeling I looked like a mess, and she still looked every bit put together and perfect. How did she manage? How   
could she continue to look so... Unaffected? 

Asking her was not an option. For various reasons, but mainly because her fingers were slipping lower and hooking around the waistband of my panties. At least I dressed for the occasion this time. At   
least I had had some idea of how the night was gonna end and had been foreseeable enough to choose matching underwear. 

Thud. The panties landed on the floor. For the second time, I was naked while she was fully clothed. 

That should have made me feel ridiculously vulnerable. But it didn’t. I was mostly just annoyed that I had not succeeded in my plan about getting her to take her clothes off. 

Next time, I vowed. Next time I wanted to see her. Next time I wanted to feel every inch of her. 

But for right now....

My brain short circuited and I became unable to plot and plan when I felt her hand between my legs, rubbing me up and down, finding the most sensitive part of me with the tip of her finger. 

My hands curled into fists as I clutched the sheet underneath me. Unable to control my reactions, I moaned her name. I was already slick and warm. And she had barely touched me yet.

Alexandra shifted slightly. Her hand never switched position, but she once again came up to kiss me. I returned the kiss and had to press my palm flat against her back as she continued to tease the   
bundle of nerves and moving her finger in circles and figure eights. Suddenly, her fingers didn’t feel so cold anymore. 

“Alexandra!” 

She let out this little hum in response and kept her actions up until I was quite certain I couldn’t take anymore teasing. She placed a light kiss on my cheek.

“You’re very sweet,” she said quietly. 

I didn’t know what to do with that praise right now, and honestly, I didn’t care either. I wiggled my hips slightly in anticipation. I needed more. I needed something that wasn’t teasing. 

Alexandra quickly understood what I was getting at. My moans were completely disrupted when she slipped a finger inside me. My jaw completely fell open at the intrusion. Not because it hurt, but because my mind had no problem with remembering how good it had felt the last time. 

But still, there was certain details my mind hadn’t been imaginative enough to remember. Like how my hips stuttered out this frantic rhythm when she started moving her finger within me. And how warm her mouth felt against my breast. How her curls tickled my skin as her lips wrapped around my nipple and sucked lightly.

Oh god, oh god, oh god. I was gonna fall apart in a moment. She had barely started, but her previous teasing had seen to that I was already skittering around that edge. 

My knuckles turned white and my breath was rapid as I braced myself. The waves were crashing over me, and I was just about to tumble over the edge when Alexandra suddenly ceased her actions and   
stopped. 

My head snapped up and I opened my mouth, ready to spill complains.

“Relax,” Alexandra soothed as she withdrew her finger. “We’re not done.” 

And she certainly proved that by slipping a second finger inside me all the while her lips wrapped around my nipple again, and this time she wasn’t so gentle with her ministrations.

My head instantly fell back against the pillow. My abdomen started tightening and I almost felt sorry about getting close again so quickly. I didn’t want this to end already. I didn’t know when I would get   
the chance to be with her again. I really wanted this to last. 

But unfortunately, there was very little I could do to prevent the inevitable. The pleasure mounted inside me. It began as a slight burning sensation in my heels and then travelled up, up, up until.......

“Alexandra!” the name came out in a shattered whisper, but it was the best I could do. White lights popped behind my eyes as I completely fell apart and my body grew limp.

Alexandra gently withdrew her fingers from me and I was certain I saw her bring her fingers up to her lips.

Exhaustion immediately washed over me, but this time I was fighting it valiantly. I reached for Alexandra and wanted to pull her into my arms and kiss her. Don’t fall asleep, don’t fall asleep, I warned   
myself. I didn’t want to sleep. I wanted her. More than anything. And I wanted to see her. I wanted to touch her, like she had touched me. 

But the long fingers combing through my hair in a soothing motion didn’t help my decision. I was growing more and more sleepy. This wasn’t fair. 

“I want...” I murmured, unable to form a full sentence. 

“You’re tired,” Alexandra hummed. 

Yes. Yes, I was. The drowsiness rolled through my veins like the pleasure had done only moments ago. 

“I don’t want to sleep.” I protested. 

“Don’t be so stubborn, miss Welles.” 

“Don’t call me...” 

“Don’t be so stubborn, Céline.” Alexandra corrected herself. “You’re exhausted. You need to sleep.” 

“Fine. I’ll sleep.” I surrendered. “But only if you’ll lie next to me.” 

“And where do you think I slept the previous time?” 

“I wasn’t sure...” 

Alexandra laughed. “You went out like a light. I’m not surprised you didn’t notice.” 

I blushed at that.

Alexandra laughed again as she lied down next to me. I immediately found my place in her arms. 

“Don’t get too used to it,” Alexandra half warned as I rested my head on her chest. 

“Why not?” I yawned. 

“Because we had a deal. No illusions. No expectations,” she reminded me. 

“I know,” I assured her. “No strings attached.” 

“Good girl.” 

I chuckled. Good girl? Seriously? But like with everything else, Alexandra could get away with the cliché. 

Now that I had her exactly where I wanted to have her, I saw no reason to not close my eyes as I listened to the fast thump-thump of her heart. 

“Your heart is beating so fast,” I murmured. 

She scoffed at that. “I can assure you, yours are beating faster.” 

“I didn’t know it was a competition.” 

“Cheeky,” she commented. “I would mind my attitude if I were you, miss Welles.” 

“Or what?” I yawned. 

“Goodnight.” She said firmly and pulled the covers up over my naked body. 

I wouldn’t have minded continuing the conversation all night, but my decision about not falling asleep was crumbling swiftly as Alexandra continued to thread her fingers through my hair.

I had one last impulse I had to follow before falling asleep though. I stretched slightly and planted a light kiss on her neck. To my great satisfaction, I actually heard her shudder at that. So she wasn’t completely unaffected after all. 

“Careful,” she warned, but she didn’t sound very stern. 

I chuckled. “You can’t call all the shots. Sorry.” 

“Oh, believe me, Miss Welles. I know. However much I want to be in charge all the time, I can’t always be. Unfortunately.”

“Have anyone ever told you you’re a bit of a control freak?” I murmured into her neck. 

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

I fell asleep mid chuckle.

 

******

The first thing to greet me the following morning was the sound of my phone buzzing. Someone was either texting or calling me. It was a bit difficult to tell when you’re barely awake. 

And the second thing to greet me was the empty space next to me in the bed. 

Disappointment washed over me and made my stomach twist as I reached over and touched the spot where Alexandra had been last night. It was still warm. She couldn’t have left very long ago. If only I   
had woken up ten minutes earlier. 

And the third thing to greet me was the note lying on the pillow. I rubbed the remains of sleep from my eyes and grabbed the note. Blinking, I tried to focus on the written words:

 

“Céline, 

Something came up and I couldn’t stay until you woke up.   
Thank you for a lovely evening. Should you ever feel up for it, don’t hesitate to give me a call.  
Just leave the hotel key on the counter. If you wake before nine you can have breakfast before you leave. Don’t hesitate to use the bathtub.  
Alexandra.”

 

I scoffed. “should you ever feel up for it”. Who was she kidding? Of course I was gonna call her again. 

I pulled my legs out of the tangled sheets and padded into the bathroom. I was gonna take her advice and use the bathtub. 

And the bathtub was pretty good. But I would rather have shared it with Alexandra. I was disappointed that she was gone, and as I washed my hair I wondered why she had left. What was the “something” that had come up? 

Will I ever learn all there is to know about her? I asked myself. Will I ever truly uncover her? 

Unable to enjoy the bath, I finished it pretty quickly. Dried myself off and pulled my hair back into a ponytail. Shimmied into in the black dress I had worn the night before. Talk about doing the walk of shame. 

Then I wandered back into the bedroom and pulled my booths back on. Now I just needed to leave the key at the desk like she had asked me to. 

That was when my gaze fell on the fourth unexpected thing to greet me this morning. There was a book lying on the nightstand. At first, I thought it was one Alexandra had left there by accident. That was how casually the book was lying there. But taking a closer look at it, I recognized the cover. It was “Misery”, and there was yet another note attached to it. I quickly picked both the book and the note up to read was that was about.

 

“To Céline.

Happy birthday.  
Re-read it. It’s better the second time. Trust me.

Alexandra.”

 

That was all the note said. Nothing more.   
I weighed the book in my hand.   
Maybe I just had an overactive imagination, but I was certain I could smell her perfume within the pages.


	24. Chapter Twenty Four

I tried calling Greta that very same night, desperation be damned. 

I was met by a crisp and raspy: “You’ve reached the voicemail of Greta Adams. Please leave a message.” 

So I did. I left her a message wherein I thanked her for the book and stressed out that she didn’t have to do that. Then I blushed slightly as I thanked her for the dinner, because it wasn’t actually the dinner, I was thanking her for, but I couldn’t exactly tell her that. 

And finally, I asked her to call me back. 

Which she didn’t. 

Not that night and not the next day either. 

I didn’t hear a peep from her for 48 hours, and I was beginning to think that she’d changed her mind. Again. 

But on the third day after our “meeting” at the hotel, I heard from her. 

Well, not directly. 

The final tests would come sooner rather than later, and I was beginning to go stir crazy, cooped up in my room. So I had headed out to the library to study instead. My mother wasn’t lurking outside the door there. 

I had brought my phone, but I had placed it in the bottom of my bag, tucked away and on “mute” so I didn’t feel tempted by it. 

After three hours of intense studying, my brain was beginning to fail me, so I decided to call it quits for today and head back home. On the way home in the bus, I checked my phone since I had arrived at the library. There was one new message and one missed call, and I immediately felt disappointed for having missed the call. I quickly listened to the message: 

“Good afternoon, Céline. I’m sorry I haven’t returned your calls until now, but I’ve been terribly busy. I’m here for the next hour. Give me a call.” 

Shit. She had left that message two hours ago. Which meant she was long gone. Damnit. But I still called her. Maybe I was lucky enough to reach her. 

Nope. No such luck. “You’ve reached the voicemail of Greta Adams. Please leave a message.” 

I left her another message. “Hey, uhm, it’s Celine. But I’m sure you’ve already figured that out. Anyway, my phone was on mute, so I couldn’t really... Give me a call? Please? Bye.” 

I regretted it as soon as I hung up. Did I seriously just beg her to call me? Nice one, Celine. Real smooth. 

And Greta didn’t call back. 

Not that day, nor the next. 

I was beginning to consider sending her a text instead. I refused to call her again. That would definitely come across as desperate. Too desperate for a “no strings attached” thing. 

After intense studying, I needed a break. So despite the disapproving look on my mother’s face, I closed my laptop and gave Michelle a call. 

“Drowning in books?” I asked as soon as she picked up. 

“Yep.” She said. “I think I’ve reached some sort wall.”

“Yeah, me too. Wanna take a study break?”

“What are you suggesting, Welles?” 

“Manu’s Bodega. Tonight. No drinking. Just greasy food and the opportunity to see something that isn’t books.” 

“I’m in.” Michelle says. “Call Hannah.” 

I did that, and Hannah too was “in”. She needed a break from studying just as much as we did. We agreed to meet at Manu’s Bodega tonight at seven to have some dinner together. 

This time, I wasn’t gonna bother with dresses and high heels. Instead I put on a pair of ripped jeans, a grey tanktop and my beloved leather jacket. I added a bit of mascara and tied my hair back into a high ponytail. This was good enough for tonight. This was no dinner at a pricey hotel. There wouldn’t be oysters. 

I shuddered involuntarily as I suddenly was taken back to room 313 on Four Season hotel. 

I could still feel Alexandra’s lips on my skin. Her ice blues eyes in the darkened room. Her soft hair tickling me. Her fingers... Woah, Welles. Calm down, I scolded myself. No reason to delve further into the memories. I glanced at myself one last time and then I left the house, thoroughly ignoring the look my mother gave me. I was eighteen. She couldn’t forbid me to go out with my friends. Michelle and Hannah were already waiting for me outside. They were sitting in Michelle’s wreckage of a car, listening to too loud songs on the radio.

“Ready, Welles?” Michelle asked as I hopped onto the backseat. 

“More than ready,” I said. “Drive!” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Michelle joked. 

I rolled my eyes. 

 

The drive to Manu’s Bodega was short. But we still ended up driving around for a little while to find somewhere to park. Michelle cursed when she discovered that we couldn’t park out front. 

“It’s not the end of the world,” I said. 

“Maybe not to you,” she moaned. “But my boots were not made for walking.” 

I looked down at my scuffed black Converse shoes and congratulated myself with choosing something appropriate. 

After a bit of driving around, we finally managed to find a parking space. 

“Ha!” Michelle said triumphantly as she elegantly squeezed the car into the cramped space. 

“Are we sure this is a good idea?” Hannah asked and raised an eyebrow. “I mean, this area isn’t exactly....” 

“It’ll be fine,” Michelle brushed her off. “Come on.” 

But we had barely made it out on the street before we were greeted by a howling. 

It didn’t take very long to pinpoint the source of the howling. Three guys were standing nonchalantly leaned against a big black car, gulping down beer even though it wasn’t that late. 

“Daaaaaaaamn,” one of them bellowed. 

Neither Hannah, Michelle nor I reacted in anyway. 

“Where you going?” the tallest of them inquired and smirked. “Hmm?” 

“Hey, redhead!” the third of them yelled to Hannah. “Why don’t you come over here instead?” 

“Looking good,” tall-guy said to Michelle. “Are you as perfect underneath that clothes?” 

“What about you, blondie?” the shortest one yelled to me. “If you come over here, I’ll show you a good time!” 

“I think they’re mute,” the first one said and laughed. 

“Hey, hey, hey, we’re complimenting you!” tall guy bellowed. “It’s rude to ignore a compliment!” 

None of us answered. Instead we walked past them on our way to Manu’s Bodega. 

“Stuck up bitches!” one of them hollered. 

We didn’t react to that either, but all of us were relieved when we got inside. 

“You know, sometimes I wonder what’s actually going on in men’s brain,” Hannah muttered as we sat down at a table. 

“I don’t think a lot was happening in those guys brains,” I replied. 

“I don’t think they were using their actual brains for thinking,” Michelle said. “Dickheads.” 

I chuckled. 

“I think the tallest one was married,” Hannah sneered. “I saw something sparkly on his finger.” 

“Somebody ought to tell his wife,” I mumbled and shook my head. It had actually been a bit scary. It wasn’t the first time I had been catcalled, but you never quite learn to just ignore it completely. It still leaves you with a hammering heart, and especially if there is more than just one guy. 

“Okay, what do we want to eat?” Michelle said and changed the subject. 

We ended on tacos for all three of us, and when the food arrived, we gradually became more relaxed and began chatting and joking around like we had done in the car. 

We talked about graduation, the summer holiday and our plans for the future. Hannah was going straight to college after high school. She was going to study Criminology, of all things, and I was still fucking impressed. Hannah had always worked her ass of in school. She had never been pressured or pushed into it by her parents, but she had never bothered to hide that the most important thing in her life was to get an education. 

I was impressed by the way she was so focused on what she wanted. 

And Michelle.... Well, she still claimed she wanted to run off to Bahamas after finishing high school. 

“I don’t think that’s very realistic, Michelle,” I said plainly and took a sip of my lemon water. 

She waved me off with a funny little movement. “Then maybe I’ll end up in some fashion school in New York or London.” 

“What about you, Celine?” Hannah asked. “Have you talked to your mom about you-know-what?” 

“Nope,” I said. “I’m trying to find the right approach.” 

“But graduation is right around the corner,” Michelle said. “And aren’t you supposed to go to Boston to get a tour right after?” 

“I still have a little while to figure things out,” I muttered. “I’ll... I’ll think of something.” 

I just didn’t know what that “something” was. I had no idea how to break it to my mother. I wasn’t properly prepared for the explosion yet. 

Hannah and Michelle shot me looks of concern, but I just shrugged as I nibbled on my taco.

“Maybe I’ll meet you in Bahamas, Michelle.” I joked. 

She chuckled. “Double up on colorful drinks, then.” 

I laughed, but only for a moment. “But seriously, taking a gap year wouldn’t be so bad.” 

“Are you gonna travel?” Hannah asked. 

I shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe I’ll be too busy with arranging my funeral, ‘cause I’m pretty sure my mother will kill me.” 

This time, all three of us laughed. 

“I’m screwed,” I dully acknowledged. 

“I mean it, “ Michelle said, for once serious. “If you ever need somewhere...” 

“I know,” I said. But we both knew that living at Michelle’s wasn’t even a possibility. When I was still dating Allen, I sometime dreamed of living with him, but that was a finished chapter. 

Michelle’s phone beeped, and she quickly fished it out of her pocket, and then she grinned. 

“Is that Steve texting you?” Hannah asked and rolled her eyes.

“Maybe...” Michelle drawled. 

“Why do I get the idea that you’re gonna see him once you’re done with us?” I teased. 

“Maybe I am...” 

Hannah scoffed. 

“He’s not that bad, Hannah!” Michelle defended. 

“The fact alone that you have to say that...” 

“You’re judging him too hard.” 

“No, I’m just saying you’re too good for him. What do you even see in him?” Hannah asked and rolled her eyes again.

Michelle smirked. “If only you knew the things he can do with his...” 

“Woah!” I interrupted and covered my ears. “I really, really don’t want to know, okay?” 

“Yeah, Celine didn’t say that kind of stuff about Allen,” Hannah added, and her face twisted. 

“Oh, shit,” Michelle said, and her smile faltered a bit. “I’m sorry, I was being insensitive.” 

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m not upset. I just don’t want to know about what you and Steve do behind a closed door...” 

“You mean what they always do behind a closed door,” Hannah interjected dryly.

“Hey, we do other stuff too!” Michelle defended. “We watched a movie yesterday...” 

“And what was it about?” Hannah asked. 

“Uhh... Aliens?” Michelle said vaguely. 

I bursted out laughing. “Uhh, Aliens. That sounds like a good movie.” 

“Shut up. It’s not my fault he’s so good at what he does,” Michelle muttered. 

“I’m gonna barf,” Hannah said dramatically. 

“You’re just jealous of my sex life,” Michelle said sweetly. 

“I doubt that’s the reason,” I whispered quietly. 

“I heard that,” Michelle said and narrowed her eyes. “It’s not my fault Hannah’s a prude.” 

“I am so not a prude,” Hannah said and threw her napkin after Michelle. 

I chuckled as I lifted my glass of lemon water again.

Michelle elegantly dodged the napkin and turned to me instead. “And it’s not my fault that you’re not getting any!”

I choked violently on a mouthful of water and spluttered. Yeah, uhh... about that. You see, the thing is....

I settled for wiping my chin were the water had dripped. 

Michelle snickered and took a sip of her water She clearly saw herself as the winner of that battle. 

I could have told her differently, but I decided to keep my mouth shut. 

“And what is young Steve planning on doing after high school?” Hannah asked. “Fetching you drinks, perhaps?” 

“No, he’s not. He’s actually planning on....” 

The rest of their exchange went completely above my head. 

My mind was suddenly swimming with things I had no business thinking about in the company of my friends. These were thoughts I normally “saved” for late at night when I was alone in my bedroom. I shouldn’t be thinking of room 313 at the Four Season Hotel. Nor should I be thinking of room 213 at Hotel Ballard. It was off limit. Forbidden. 

“Celine? Hello?” 

I blinked, but I wasn’t fast enough to dodge the piece of napkin that had been molded into a ball. It hit me on the cheek. 

“What?” I asked. 

“Anybody home?” Michelle teased. 

“Did you just zone out on us?” Hannah added and chuckled. 

“Of course not,” I firmly denied. “I’m right here. 

And as to prove that, I threw the piece of napkin at Michelle. It landed in her lemon water.

“Seriously?” she complained as she fished it out of her drink. 

“Woops,” I said innocently. “My bad.” 

She took her revenge by throwing a new piece of napkin at me. It didn’t hit. 

 

After hanging for a while and declare ourselves unable to ever eat again, we left the Manu’s Bodega and headed out on the street again. 

“God, I’m full,” Michelle said as we headed back towards the car again.

“You shouldn’t have eaten the last taco,” Hannah teased. 

“It was worth it,” Michelle said firmly. 

“I’m not so sure about that,” I muttered. “I’ll have to double up my work at the gym tomorrow.” 

Michelle chuckled. “Like you need to work out.” 

“Of course I need to work out.” 

“We can’t all settle for sheet exercises,” Hannah deadpanned. 

“Oh, very funny, Quinn!” 

We continued to argue and tease each other all the way back to the parking lot, but the fun was cut short when we reached the car. 

“You have to be kidding me!” Michelle exclaimed. “This is not happening!” 

But it was. And someone really had slashed the tire on the front wheel. 

“You have to be fucking kidding me,” Michelle said as she inspected the gash in the tire. 

“Why would anyone think that this is funny?” Hannah said and pulled her jacket tighter around herself. 

That’s when we heard laughing. All three of us looked up from the slashed tire. 

The three guys were still standing leaned against the big black SUV, and suddenly, I had a nasty hunch who might have thought that slashing the tire on Michelle’s car was fun. 

“Hello again, ladies,” fat-possibly-married-guy half-yelled. “Need help?” 

“Yeah, we’ll take you home,” the tall guy with the shaved head laughed. 

“Or wherever else you might wanna go,” the third one of them said and loudly added to his buddies: “One for each.” 

Hannah, Michelle and I looked at each other. Walking home was out of the question but staying here and wait for either Michelle’s or Hannah’s mom wasn’t very tempting either. We didn’t have enough money for a cab. Taking the bus was possible, but that still meant walking to the nearest bus stop. And none of us were too crazy about doing that right now, with the tree guys right here. 

“What do you say, baby?” the tall guy said to me. “Need some help? I would be more than happy to take you for a ride...” 

All three of them exploded in laughter and the wolf whistling began anew. 

“We need to get out of here,” I whispered to Hannah and Michelle. “Maybe we could call...” 

I didn’t get to finish the sentence. One of the guys interrupted me by yelling: “Ohhh, dude, check that out!” 

Their attention switched to a new target, and the wolf-whistling intensified. Fat guy yelled: “Hey, sweetheart! Your clothes would look really good on my bedroom floor!” 

All three of them erupted in a new fit of laughter. 

But as the laughter died down, I clearly heard someone scoffing and say: “I doubt your floor is clean enough for that. But you know what would look good? My stiletto heel buried in your crotch.” 

My amazement at the comeback was almost enough to not make me unable to identify the low, raspy voice. 

“Fucking bitch!” the guy spat. 

“Very original,” Greta deadpanned. 

“You know what, do us all a favor and show us what’s underneath that skirt of yours,” the tallest guy said. 

I saw Greta come into view as she walked underneath the lamppost. She scoffed again and flipped her hair over her shoulder as she said: “The only part of me you would be fortunate enough to see, would be my middle finger. But I’m too polite for that.” 

“Bitch!” one of them bellowed again. 

“Another amazing example of how much your vocabulary is lacking,” Greta observed dryly. “Why don’t you head home? I think it’s past your bedtime.” 

“Dyke!” another of them growled. 

I saw Greta’s hand slide into her pocket, and I was willing to bet my entire saving she was reaching for her pepper spray. 

But surprisingly enough, the three guys seemed to realize that they “were getting nowhere with us”, and one by one, they disappeared into a nearby bar. 

I exhaled sharply and was pretty sure Michelle and Hannah did the same. 

“That could have gotten really nasty,” Michelle muttered. 

“I don’t think I have been more uncomfortable in my entire life,” Hannah agreed. 

I shuddered a little. Michelle was right. That could actually have gotten really nasty. 

Greta’s shoes echoed on the pavement as she came over to us. She wasn’t wearing her usual fur collar coat tonight. But her black pillbox hat was in place, balancing on her curls and she was wearing a bottle green silk blouse with golden buttons. Her blouse was tugged into a snug, black skirt. I wasn’t judgmental in anyway, but it was impossible to not notice the short length on her skirt. Maybe it was because I was “used” to seeing her in skirts that ended just below her knees. This skirt revealed plenty of her thighs, and I very quickly adverted my eyes and looked up. 

“Celine,” she acknowledged, and gone was the French pronunciation. 

“Hey,” I said vaguely. It was impossible not to think about our last encounter, and I was glad it was so dark no one saw my flushed cheeks. 

“Do you two... Oh, you’re Greta, right?” Hannah realized. 

“Yes, that’s correct,” Greta said and glanced over Hannah’s shoulder to the car. “What happened to the car?” 

“The tire’s been slashed by one or several unknown persons,” Michelle explained. 

Greta looked around. “This neighborhood isn’t the most pleasant.” 

“We know,” Hannah said and grimaced. 

“Is anyone coming to collect you?” Greta inquired. 

“No...” 

“Have any of you called a taxi?” 

“No,” Michelle said. “We can’t really afford....” 

“In that case, I’ll take you home,” Greta interrupted. 

“You really don’t have too,” I said. Sitting in a car with both Greta and my friends? Awkward as hell. 

“I insist,” Greta said in that no-nonsense tone she so often used. 

“You would really save our night,” Michelle said. “Wouldn’t she, Celine?” 

I bit back a groan, but I couldn’t exactly argue, so I had no other choice but to follow Greta as she led me, Hannah and Michelle over to the Mercedes. 

Michelle’s eyebrow raised a bit when we reacted Greta’s vehicle, and I could almost hear her silent remarks about the car.

“Hop in,” she said briskly as she unlocked the car with a clicking sound. 

I was the one with the longest legs. So, while Michelle and Hannah climbed into the backseat, I had no choice but to take the passenger seat. I wouldn’t have minded that if it just had been me and Greta, but with Hannah and Michelle here, it was just plain awkward. 

“Where can I take you to?” Greta inquired as we all were seated, and all seatbelts were buckled. 

“North Queen Anne. Newell Street,” Michelle said. 

“And I live in Blue Ridge. Radford Avenue,” Hannah said. 

I didn’t tell Greta where I lived. She kind of already knew that.

“Alright.” Greta said as she started the engine and we left the parking lot. 

Hannah and Michelle chatted briskly as we cruised through Seattle, but I sat tight and tried desperately to think of something to say. Anything would do. But I came up empty. I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Not in this particular situation. There was probably plenty of things I could say to Greta. Like how much I had missed her, given it was two weeks since I had last seen her. If only Hannah and   
Michelle hadn’t been here....

My phone vibrated and for a moment I was so grateful for an excuse to look down. 

It was a text from my mother, informing me that she would be working tonight. And then she coldly told me that socializing wasn’t the most important thing right now. 

Message received and understood. I deleted the text without answering. 

“How’s it going with studying, by the way?” Michelle suddenly asked. 

“What?” 

“Didn’t you say that you’re getting help with studying?” Michelle continued and spoke to Greta when she asked: “How is Celine doing?” 

I honest to god don’t know how Greta kept a straight face. She had no idea what kind of lies I had told my friends, (why, of all things, why had I gone with the teacher lie?!) but she was completely calm when she answered: 

“Celine is making good process so far.” 

Now I was the one who had trouble with keeping a straight face. I was pretty sure I was blushing crimson. 

“Good,” Michelle said. “She’s always been a pretty quick study.” 

Oh god, stop talking. Please. 

“I’m sure she has, miss...?” 

“Russell,” Michelle said helpfully. 

“How do you and Celine know each other exactly?” Hannah asked. 

“We’ve run into each other a few times,” Greta said smoothly, and it was possible she found this just as awkward as I did, for she said: “Would any of you mind if I turned the radio on?” 

No. Please do.

“Not at all,” Michelle said. 

Greta switched the radio on, and for a millisecond I was grateful. Until I heard the song playing on the radio:

 

”Pull the string and I'll wink at you, I'm your puppet  
I'll do funny things if you want me to, I'm your puppet...”

 

Great. Just great. I looked out at the streetlights as Hannah and Michelle continued to talk on the backseat.

“I'm yours to have and to hold  
Darling you've got full control of your puppet  
Pull another string and I'll kiss your lips, I'm your puppet  
Snap your finger and I'll turn you some flips, I'm your puppet  
Listen, your every wish is my command  
All you gotta do is wiggle your little hand  
I'm your puppet, I'm your puppet...”

 

Ugh, this really sucks. I was grateful when we reached North Queen Anne and Michelle effusively thanked Greta. 

Greta brushed that off and said she was happy to help. 

Then we continued to Blue Ridge, and I suddenly realized, that dropping me off first would have been the most logical thing to do. 

Interesting. I had kind of given up after all the times our wires had crossed, and we had missed each other’s call. 

Before I could ponder too much about it, we reached Blue Ridge, and the Mercedes pulled up in front of Hannah’s house. 

“Thank you so much,” Hannah said to Greta. 

“Don’t mention it,” Greta smiled. “Goodbye, miss Quinn.” 

“Bye. Bye Celine,” 

“Bye,” I muttered halfheartedly. 

We stayed exactly long enough to see Hannah go inside, and then Greta turned the car around. 

“And where can I take you, Céline?” she asked. Alexandra was very much back. 

“I think you already know where I live,” I mumbled. 

She chuckled slightly and turned the volume on the radio down. 

I was still trying to acknowledge the fact that I was back in her car again when she suddenly chuckled again and asked: 

“What are we studying then? Biology?”

I blushed again. 

“Or chemistry perhaps?” she suggested nonchalantly. 

“Don’t tease,” I muttered. “I didn’t know what to tell them.” 

“Anything but the truth,” she said and nodded a little. 

“Mmm.” 

“I’m sorry I haven’t returned your calls,” Alexandra said. “I’ve been terrible busy.” 

“Doing what?” I blurted out before I could stop myself. 

She raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been out of the country for a little while.” 

“Oh. Where, uh, where have you been?” 

“Switzerland.” 

“Sw...” I blinked. “Switzerland?” 

“Yes. It’s a beautiful country,” she said lightly. 

I took her word for it. I had never been there myself. 

She didn’t say anything else as we drove back to Queen Anne. But when we pulled up in front of my house, she looked up at the windows and commented: 

“Your home looks dark.” 

“There’s no one home,” I said. 

“Oh.” She frowned slightly. 

“Would you like to come inside?” I suddenly heard myself offer. 

She raised an eyebrow. 

“To have a cup of tea,” I quickly added. “I mean, just to say thank you for the ride, and...” 

“A cup of tea would be lovely,” she interrupted. “Thank you.” 

I thought I had heard wrong, but a moment later she followed me up the pathway to my house. I fumbled more with the key than usual. It seemed so ridiculous to invite Alexandra into my house, but never   
the less, that was exactly what I had just done. 

Do you even know what you’re doing, Welles? I asked myself as I unlocked the door and went inside. 

Alexandra followed me, and I saw how she looked around in the hall. 

“You have a lovely home,” she commented as we headed into the kitchen. 

I scoffed as I made the tea. I did not have a lovely home. It was too cold. To clinical. Too clean. 

“You don’t like your home,” she observed. 

“No,” I said plainly. 

“How come?” 

I paused at her frankness. “Let’s just say this place doesn’t hold a lot of good memories for me.” 

“I see.” 

None of us said anything for a while as we waited for the tea, and I awkwardly motioned to one of the chairs, silently asking Alexandra to sit down. 

She didn’t. She kept standing leaned against the kitchen island. Maybe she was in a hurry. 

I wasn’t. It was weird, having her here, but I kind of liked it actually. 

I poured the tea. “Sugar?” I asked. 

“Just a dash of milk.” 

I added a “dash” of milk and then handed her the tea cup. 

“Thank you,” she said and offered me a smile. 

I found myself smiling back instantly. 

Alexandra didn’t say anything as she brought the teacup up to her lips again and again, but I had never seen anyone drink tea that fast. 

Her tea-sipping gave me the perfect opportunity to look at her. I hadn’t had the opportunity to do that with Hannah and Michelle around, but now I could really look at her. Her chestnut curls, her ice blue eyes framed by those long, curly lashes. And her mouth, tonight painted dark red. 

The dark circles were back underneath her eyes, I noted. I knew it was rude to notice when someone looked tired, but Alexandra most definitely looked tired. 

She suddenly smirked at me. She had probably noticed my unabashed staring. 

“Thank you for the tea,” she said quietly. 

I blinked. Holy shit. That’s some fast tea drinking you’ve got going there. 

“You’re welcome.” 

She sat the teacup down on the kitchen island. “I should probably get going.” 

Already? “Yeah.” 

She outstretched her hand, and for a moment I was silly enough to assume that she was going for a handshake, so I placed my hand in hers. But instead of shaking my hand, her fingers closed around my wrist and she suddenly pulled me closer. 

I let out a little squeak of surprise at being so close to her. But before I could fully revel in the surprise, her hands were cupping my face and she kissed me. Just like that. Completely unbothered by the   
fact that this wasn’t a hotel room. 

I immediately returned the kiss and buried my fingers in her soft curls. 

Her tongue danced along the seam of my lips, and I opened my mouth just a little. Just enough to let her in. Her hands slid down and landed on my shoulders, and I could feel how her grip tightened just a little. 

This was not how I had planned on ending my night. I hadn’t even expected to see Alexandra tonight, but now that she was here, I couldn’t think of anything else. Everything else just melted away. And as she nipped lightly at my bottom lip, I suddenly considered asking her to come upstairs with me. I would be alone tonight. realistically, I could ask Alexandra to come upstairs with me. I should. 

She bit my bottom lip lightly again. Her hands were no longer on my shoulders. Instead they were resting on my hips, squeezing me slightly, I felt dizzy from being so close to her, and at the same time, I wanted to be even closer to her. This wasn’t enough. There were too many barriers between us. 

I parted my lips more fully and deepened the kiss. Once again, I could feel her cold fingers on my face. She brushed them over my cheekbones and then cupped my cheek again. 

I had suddenly lost all ability to think. Who said it had to be at a hotel room every time? Why couldn’t we just stay right here? 

But before I could finish my last thought, Alexandra broke the kiss and took a step back. 

“There.” she said a bit hoarsely. 

“What?” I asked, slightly dumbfounded. 

“You said you don’t have a lot of good memories from this house. Now I’ve given you one,” Alexandra said plainly and fixed her hair a little. 

“Oh... T-thanks,” I stuttered. 

“No reason to thank me,” she half-chuckled. “But thank you again for the tea.” 

“Do you want to stay?” I blurted out. 

“Beg your pardon?” 

“You could stay.... Tonight?” it came out as a question, and I did very little to mask my hopefulness. 

“I’m afraid I can’t,” Alexandra said immediately. 

“Oh, okay.” I said and quelled the feeling of being rejected. This was probably going against the “no strings attached”-rule. 

Clack, clack, Alexandra’s high heels crossed the floor as she headed for the door. She put her hand on the doorknob, ready to leave, but then she glanced at me over her shoulder. 

“But you could come and visit me in two days,” she said. And unlike my phrasing, hers didn’t come out as a question. It was another statement. 

“At... At your place?” I asked. I hadn’t exactly expected that. 

“No. No, no.” Alexandra said. “At Mayflower Park Hotel. I could pick you up and we could have dinner together like the last time.” 

“I’d like that.” 

“And afterwards we could go back to my room and study a bit more,” Alexandra continued with a perfect deadpan on her face. 

I blushed. I wished she had never heard of the pathetic excuse I had used. 

But Alexandra smirked, clearly amused. “Would you like that, Céline?” 

“Yeah.” I said plainly. 

“Excellent. Then I shall be here at exactly six thirty on the day after tomorrow.” She said. And with that she turned around and left. 

I was once again left baffled. I couldn’t keep up. One moment I was out distracting myself from studying with my friends, and the next Alexandra was kissing me in my own kitchen. 

Not that I minded it at all. Oh no, I was more than fine with that. 

Exactly like I was more than fine with the way she had just planned what I was gonna do “the day after tomorrow”. 

Mayflower Park Hotel. I could hardly wait. 

My stomach already fluttered with anticipation, and I remembered the promise I had made to myself about wanting to see Alexandra the next time. Really see her.


	25. Chapter Twenty Five

I was supposed to be studying the next day. 

But I wasn’t doing a terribly good job at concentrating. 

I kept glancing at my phone, monitoring the time sharply. 

My eyes stared emptily at my laptop screen and the subject I was supposed to read up on. 

I didn’t read anything. My mind was entirely focused on Alexandra, and I once again wondered how many time she could bluescreen my brain. 

She was the flame and I was the moth. 

I don’t know how I got through that day, but suddenly the hours had passed by, and it was time to go to bed. 

The next day wasn’t any better, but for some reason, I managed to find something to do until it was time to get ready to leave.

For a while I debated what to wear. A dress? I wanted to look my best, no doubt about that, but I also wanted to be comfortable. 

In the end, vanity won the battle and I slipped an aquamarine dress with thin straps on. The color seemed to highlight my eyes for some reason, and I congratulated myself with choosing right for once. 

Then I brushed my hair and quickly decided to let it hang loose. My hair was definitely my best feature. Hiding it away in a ponytail would be silly. 

I added more makeup than I normally did, and I immediately silly for doing so. What, exactly was my intention? To appear older than I was? That was just sad. 

But I still added a bit more Magenta lipstick. Just for the hell of it. 

There. I was done. Dressed up and with a fresh face. Now all I could do was wait. 

Which I did. I waited impatiently as I shrugged my leatherjacket on (because dress or jeans, I always wore my leatherjacket). 

After ten minutes of impatiently pacing up and down the kitchen floor, I finally heard the revealing sound of a car pulling up in front of my house. 

I peeked out of the window before I went outside. Just to make sure it wasn’t my mother that arrived home unexpectedly. 

But it was the Mercedes, so I quickly grabbed my purse and went outside. 

I hadn’t been outside at all today. I had been a little too busy with studying. Or, trying to study. 

It was a surprisingly cold evening. We were in the middle of April, and it was supposed get warmer. But it didn’t. And I almost regretted I hadn’t chosen jeans instead of the dress.

Alexandra’s only reaction was to open the door to the passenger seat. She didn’t look up or anything, so instead of waiting for some sort of cue, I went over to the Mercedes and climbed inside. 

“Hi.” I said a bit lamely. 

“Good evening,” she answered. “Are you ready to leave?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Good. In that case, let’s not waste any time on pleasantries.” But she contradicted herself as she turned her head and gave my cheek a light peck with her lips. Exactly like she did that evening in the bar. 

It felt like it was so long ago. 

Before I could react to it, she had started the engine and we were driving away from my house. 

“How have you been?” she asked, even though she had seen me two days ago. 

“Uhm.... Pretty good,” I said. “A little busy with studying, but you know how it is.” 

I grimaced. No, she didn’t. It was a long time since she finished high school. 

But Alexandra just nodded. “When are you graduating?” she asked. 

“In the fall.” 

“Oh.”

“How have you been?” I dared asking. 

“Perfectly fine.” Alexandra answered.

But it didn’t quite seem like a completely genuine answer. She looked a bit pale, and even though she had masked them with makeup, I could see the dark circles were back under her ice blue eyes. 

But apart from that, she looked every bit as perfect as she had done last night. Tonight she was wearing her big fur collar coat, and it made me wonder what she was wearing underneath it. 

It only took about ten minutes before we reached Mayflower Park Hotel. It didn’t look like much from outside, but Alexandra could have taken us to a broom cupboard and I wouldn’t have cared. 

I didn’t care about the location. My only interest was to be alone with her. 

I didn’t know whether that was going against the “no strings attached rule”, but that was how I felt. 

Alexandra parked the car and both of us exited the Mercedes. For some reason, I felt oddly shy. That seemed a bit silly because Alexandra already had...... Well, punctured my every reason to be shy, but   
something was nagging me. 

Something was off about Alexandra tonight. 

I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what, and it wasn’t that her behavior was completely different from when I had seen her two days ago, but I still had that famous gut feeling. 

Something was off about her. I just knew.

But it bothered me that I couldn’t ask her what it was. That would definitely categorize as going against the “no strings attached”-thing. 

I couldn’t be too interested in her and what was going on in her life. That was against the rules. 

I had made a promise about not having any illusions. 

“Are you alright, Céline?”

We had reached the lobby as I had pondered, and I quickly looked up. “Yeah, I’m fine.” 

“You’re quiet.” Alexandra observed. 

“So are you.” 

“Touché.” She snickered a little. 

I looked around in the grand lobby. The hotel was definitely better from the inside. Not as big as Hotel Ballard or Four Season, but it was beautiful and charmingly old fashioned. 

I smiled a little. Alexandra fitted perfectly into this setting. 

Alexandra walked up to the desk and gave the bell a light tap. Within seconds, a hotel clerk emerged from the back room and asked: “How may I help you, miss?” 

“Reservation for Alexandra Dufort,” she said and flashed him a positively charming smile. 

I tilted my head slightly. Dufort. I hadn’t heard that before, but it quickly made sense. Of course she used a fake last name too. 

Her charming smile clearly affected the young hotel clerk. He looked slightly taken aback as he started fumbling around behind the counter and handed Alexandra a key. “Yes, of course. Here’s your key miss Dufort. Enjoy your stay.” 

“Thank you. I intend too,” Alexandra said plainly as she took the key. 

I blushed and looked down at my shoes. 

But Alexandra remained completely unaffected as she came back to me with the key in hand. “Do you mind taking a quick detour to the room before we have dinner?” 

“No, that’s fine.” 

We headed towards the stairs, and I wondered why there were stairs up to the elevators. That seemed ridiculous. 

“Which floor are we staying on? Alexandra?” I looked over my shoulder. She was several steps behind me. Maybe my long legs were getting the best of me again. 

“Third floor,” she replied when she caught up with me. “Be a dear and push the button.” 

I immediately did as she requested and summoned the elevator. It arrived a few seconds later. 

Both of us went inside the elevator, and I pushed a new button.

Alexandra flashed me a little smile as she nonchalantly leaned back against the wall. “What would you like to have for dinner tonight, Céline?” 

“I don’t know yet.”

“The steamed Manila Clams are quite good.” 

“You’ve been here before?” I guessed. 

“I have,” Alexandra confirmed. “But never in room 515.” 

And what’s that supposed to mean? That you’ve been in all the other rooms?

I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. 

“You look very nice tonight,” Alexandra commented as her ice blue eyes darted from my face to my legs. 

“Thank you,” I muttered, blushing again. I wondered if Alexandra ever blushed? It seemed unlikely. I couldn’t think of anything that could rattle her. 

“But you look like you haven’t slept,” she continued. 

“I haven’t.” I said. I would have liked to tell her, that it was because of her I couldn’t sleep. But the truth was, that I’d had another nightmare last night. Another nightmare where I was back behind the   
wheel on the slippery wet road, where metal collided with metal.

Alexandra didn’t ask further questions, and the elevator door opened with a low sound. 

We stepped out and I followed Alexandra as she walked down the hall to room 515. 

It only took her a moment to find it, and once again I was slightly amazed as she opened the door. Another ridiculously big room. Another fucking suite. 

“Well, this looks very nice.” Alexandra said plainly. 

Fucking understatement of the year. “Mhmm,” I said and tried not to look at the too-big bed in the middle of the room. That bed was definitely big enough for four people. 

“You don’t have to look so anxious, Miss Welles. There’s no monsters in the closet,” Alexandra said and chuckled slightly as she dumped her purse on the bed and started to unbutton her coat.

I scoffed, unamused. 

But Alexandra appeared to find her remark very funny. She kept chuckling as she unbuttoned her coat. 

I was not disappointed when she slid the coat off her shoulders. She was wearing a tight, grey dress with a rather plunging neckline. A gold clasped belt accentuated her perfect waistline. As always, her chestnut hair was perfectly coiffed, brushing the top of her shoulders, and I wondered what kind of deal she had to make with the devil to look so perfect all the fucking time. 

After stuffing her coat away in the enormous closet, she turned her attention back to me. “You look mighty tense, miss Welles.” She informed me, and her heels clacked against the floor as she walked towards me.

I settled for a shrug. But it didn’t really help my “tenseness” that she was getting closer and closer with each step. 

“Loosen up,” she told me as her cold fingertips brushed against my cheek. 

I automatically leaned in against the touch. 

“That’s better,” she cooed softly. “Relax.”

Ironically enough, my heart sped up, and I was sure my pulse was sky high. 

The fact that Alexandra suddenly leaned in and captured my lips with her own didn’t really help the matter either. But I forgot to pay attention to how fast my heart was beating. The only thing that mattered was her lips against mine. The soft pressure. Compared to the kiss we’d shared two nights ago, this was a surprisingly gentle kiss. She made no attempt at opening my mouth. Instead she variated the pressure against my lips in a way that made me dizzy despite how gently she was kissing me. 

Then she stepped back and smiled slightly. “There you are. That’s better.” With that she picked up her purse from the bed and excused herself to the bathroom. 

I was left standing ever so dumbfounded in the middle of the room. It almost seemed like Alexandra had just tuned in, so to speak. Like she just had shed the remains of the quiet and unapproachable version I had experienced in the car. 

There was no doubt that she had just slipped back into her “role” as the teasing and sassy Alexandra, and I wondered why she had had trouble with finding that role tonight. 

And then I caught myself questioning why she had to play a role. I understood it was necessary when she had “clients”, but.......

I am not her client. So why can’t she just be herself? Why can’t she be Greta instead of......

I immediately stopped that thought from growing. I couldn’t think like that. That too categorized as questioning the “no strings attached”-rule. 

I heard the water be switched on in the bathroom. That awakened me from my trance, and I quickly rummaged through my purse and found my lipstick. Something told me I needed to apply a new layer. 

A moment later, Alexandra came out of the bathroom. She smiled as she slung her purse over her shoulder. “Are you ready to go, Céline?” 

“Yep.” I said and found myself returning the smile. 

“Come on then,” Alexandra said. “Let’s get some dinner.” 

I followed her out of the hotel room and did my utmost to ignore the enormous bed. 

 

  
*****

 

We headed down to Oliver’s Lounge, and once again I was struck by how posh this place was. 

But Alexandra seemed perfectly at home as she led me over to a table in the corner. “Nice and private,” she said with a little smile. 

She encouraged me to “choose whatever I wanted”, but my choice, “Fish and Chips”, still made her chuckle. 

“What’s wrong with Fish and Chips?” I asked. 

“Absolutely nothing,” Alexandra said calmly. “I think I’ll have the lobster roll. What do you want to drink?” 

“Water’s fine.” 

“Very well.” 

A moment later, a waiter showed up, and Alexandra informed him of our choices, and to my surprise, she ordered a Martini.

“I thought you didn’t drink?” I asked. 

“Tonight I do,” Alexandra replied just as calm as before. “But don’t worry, I have no intention of getting drunk.” 

“Of course not.” 

Soon after our beverage arrived, and Alexandra clinked her glass with mine. “à ta santé, miss Welles.” 

“Cheers,” I said, guessing that was what she had just said. 

“À la tienne,” she corrected.

“À la tienne,” I repeated with some trouble. 

“Very good,” she praised. “You have a very good pronunciation.” 

“Merci,” I teased.

Alexandra chuckled as she took a sip of her Martini. 

“You’ve spent much time in France?” I asked and took a gulp of my water. 

“France isn’t the only French speaking country, Miss Welles.” 

“Right.” 

Her expression softened. “I’m being brusque. My apologies. Yes, I have spent some time in France, but not as much time as I’ve spent in Switzerland.” 

“Oh, right. You’ve just been there.” 

“That’s right.”

“Holiday or...?” 

My question was interrupted by a phone going off in Alexandra’s purse. She quickly fished it out, frowned slightly as she took the call. 

“Bonjour,” she said, bringing the Martini up to her lips again. She listened for a few minutes, and then she said: “Puis-je vous rappeler demain? Je suis un peu occupé en ce moment.” More listening, and then: “Oui. Meci. Au revoir.” 

Then she ended the call and turned her attention back to me: “Sorry about that, sweetpea.” 

“Something important?” I asked. 

“No. It can wait.” She assured me and smiled as she gave my hand a soft pat. 

As on cue, our food arrived and hungry as I was, I quickly forgot all about the French phone call. 

The food looked absolutely delicious. Mouthwatering. I wanted nothing more than to just dig in immediately, but Alexandra raised her drink once more and said: 

“à ta santé.”

“À la tienne,” I parroted, and she smiled like a proud teacher. 

 

*****

 

“That was without a doubt the best Fish and Chips I’ve ever had,” I announced a little while later. 

Alexandra smiled teasingly. “Had a lot of Fish and Chips, Céline?” 

“Mayyyybe,” I chuckled.

She didn’t look half unamused by that. “Do you want some dessert?” she offered. “Their chocolate cake is very good.” 

“Speaking from experience?” I snickered. Alexandra didn’t look like the type who had chocolate cake. Ever. 

“I too am just a human,” she deadpanned. “And occasionally, I indulge.” 

I chuckled. 

“So, do you want some dessert?” she asked again. “Their lemon mascarpone is also quite good.” 

“No thanks. I’m stuffed.” 

“Well, in that case let’s leave,” Alexandra suggested as she found her wallet in her purse. 

“You don’t have to,” I quickly interjected. “I can pay for my...” 

“What would be the point in me inviting you to dinner if you’re going to pay for it yourself?” Alexandra interrupted. “No, Céline. I’ll pay for our dinner.” 

She left no room for argument as she got the waiters attention. Before I could protest in the slightest, she had paid for our food. 

After finishing up with the waiter, she looked pending at me. “Are you ready to leave?” 

“Yeah.” I quickly rose from my chair. 

I followed her out of the restaurant and back to the elevator. None of us said anything as the elevator took us back to the third floor, but Alexandra’s long fingers stroked my wrist in an almost soothing motion. Maybe I looked nervous again. 

I felt a little nervous as the elevator stopped and we walked down the hallway to room 513. And I felt silly for being nervous. Alexandra had literally seen me naked two times already. What did I have to be nervous about? 

Alexandra unlocked the door to our room and I scurried inside. As she closed and then locked the door I quickly sat down on the edge of the bed and took off my boots. No shoes in the bed. 

I briefly considered to take my dress off to save some time, but I kind of wanted her to do it. 

Alexandra sat her purse down on the little nightstand, and then she turned her attention back to me. She slowly walked towards me, cupped my face and kissed me deeply. 

My hands slid up to rest on her forearms. The only part of her I could reach from my sitting position.

“Stand,” Alexandra murmured without moving her hands.

I immediately obeyed and rose from my sitting position. She was several inches taller than me now that I wasn’t wearing heels. 

Without saying a word, Alexandra spun me around and unzipped my dress. 

I shuddered slightly. I hadn’t expected her to strip me so quickly, but I definitely wasn’t complaining. 

My aquamarine dress landed on the floor with a soft thud, and I stepped out of it and turned around. 

Alexandra’s ice blue eyes wandered from my face to my white underwear, to my bare legs and then back to my face. She zeroed in on my eyes as she said: 

“Beautiful.” 

My cheeks flushed. 

“You don’t like when people tell you that, do you?” Alexandra murmured. 

I shook my head. According to someone I really didn’t want to think about right now, vanity was a sin. Looks didn’t matter. Looks wasn’t the thing that would “bring you forward in the world.”

“Why?” Alexandra asked and toyed lightly with my bra strap. “Why don’t you like when people call you beautiful?” 

“I... I don’t know,” I muttered. 

“Yes, you do. But you don’t have to tell me. I am not entitled to know everything about you.” 

No, but I wish you were. 

I blinked. Wait, what? Where did that come from? 

Instead of speculating too much about that, I closed the gap between us and kissed her. My fingers soon found their favorite place. Buried in her soft curls.

And Alexandra’s hands.... Alexandra’s hands were everywhere on my body. On my shoulders, squeezing them slightly, travelling down to my hips, then her red painted nails were scraping lightly over my stomach, travelling upwards again, towards my breasts. I moaned into her mouth when she squeezed softly. 

Her hands travelled down once more, and my moan turned into a gasp when she cupped me through my panties. 

“You’ve missed me,” she teased.

I couldn’t exactly run from that. My body was already on edge and reacting to her. 

She smirked as her fingers movement became more determined. My knees turned to jelly and I had to grasp her shoulders to stay upright. My head was already spinning, and we had barely been in the room for ten minutes. 

Suddenly, the teasing stopped, and I snapped my head up to look at Alexandra. This was definitely not fair. 

“Take them off,” Alexandra said silkily. 

I blinked. What? My brain was already turning into goo. 

“Take them off,” Alexandra repeated. 

Oh. Ohhh! Things were beginning to dawn on me and I quickly hooked my fingers inside the waistband of my panties. I kept my gaze fixated on the floor and flushed as I felt how the material stuck to my crotch. Slowly, I pushed them down my legs. 

Then Alexandra’s finger was under my chin as she tilted my face upwards. Reluctantly, I met her ice blue gaze. 

“I like eye contact,” she told me. 

I swallowed something but kept my eyes firmly locked with hers as I slid the panties the rest of the way down my legs. They made no sound as they hit the floor. 

Alexandra’s fingers moved swiftly as she unhooked my bra. Soon the garment joined my other clothes on the floor. 

“Lie down,” Alexandra said and motioned to the bed. 

As other two times, I was completely under her spell, bound to do as she told me. I lied down on the bed. My heart was pounding in my chest and tried to calm myself by taking some deep breaths. 

It didn’t work.

And I should have known better than to try and calm myself. This was not the time for calm. 

So instead of wasting time with that, I closed my eyes and simply listened to the rapid thump-thump of my heart. 

The bed dipped slightly as Alexandra sat down, and my eyelids fluttered when her cold fingers caressed my abdomen.

“No, keep them closed,” Alexandra murmured. 

“I thought you liked eye contact.” 

She chuckled, a deep, rich sound in the quiet hotel room. “Heightens the sensation, sweetpea.” 

I kept my eyes closed. The bed creaked again, and suddenly, Alexandra was very much on top of me. I could feel her hair tickling me, and I could smell her perfume. Or a perfume. It wasn’t her usual one. 

This one smelled slightly different. Slightly spicier and almost a bit smoky. It was difficult to pinpoint the smell exactly, and why bother? Why bother when she was kissing my neck? 

My thoughts disappeared. That’s how simple it was. The world shrank until it only consisted of Alexandra. My head lolled to the side to give her better access to my neck. 

But she had other plans. Her lips travelled lower and my back arched immediately as they enveloped my nipple. My fingers closed around the bedspread underneath me. We hadn’t even thought of removing that before we moved things to the bed. 

“Alexandra....” I whispered and was surprised when my mind whispered back. Greta. Greta. Greta. 

Her only response was to bite down ever so gently on my nipple. My entire body jerked at that, and I could have sworn I heard her chuckles vibrate against my skin. Her tongue swiped over my hard nipple again. My grip on the bedspread tightened. I wanted to squeeze my legs together to get at least some friction, but given how Alexandra was on top of me, I couldn’t do that. And it was a little agonizing. 

She wasn’t in a hurry. She kept teasing my nipple with her tongue while her hand kneaded my other breast. 

“Alexandra,” I moaned again, and this time it came out a bit whinier. I was getting impatient. 

She switched side and gave my other breast the exact same treatment. Her tongue swirled over my nipple, sending a new wave of heat straight to my lower stomach. 

I cried out again. It felt like I was on fire. Like I was burning up from the inside. But this was the kind of fire I willingly would let consume me. Mind, flesh and bones. I didn’t care. The flames could take me. 

I was a very willing victim. 

Alexandra’s lips suddenly disappeared from my breast but complaining was quite unnecessary. Her mouth travelled lower and I gasped when her tongue dipped into my navel. 

I half expected her to come up again. Maybe she would kiss my lips or make new marks bloom on my skin as her fingers travelled lower. 

But she didn’t. Instead I could feel her cold hands on my thighs as she spread my legs wider. 

My eyelids were fluttering. My grip on the bedspread became loose. 

“Don’t open your eyes,” Alexandra warned. Her cold fingers locked around my ankle as she first placed my left foot on the mattress, and then my right. 

“What are you...” I muttered without finishing the sentence. Because asking seemed ridiculous. I already had a pretty good idea about what she was going to do. And the thought made me both half mad   
and just a little bit anxious. More wetness settle between my legs. My clit was throbbing. 

Alexandra didn’t answer my half question. At least not with words. A moment later, I felt her hair tickling my thigh, and then, my lower body almost levitated off the bed and I let out this animalistic moan when I felt her tongue between my legs. 

I think I yelled her name. Or maybe I was shouting profanity. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could compare to this. I forgot how to breathe for a second, and when I remembered, the breath came out ragged. 

“Alexandra!” I cried out. God, I was already close. I didn’t want to be close. I needed this to last longer. 

Her tongue was still working between my legs, and what had been teasing licks at first became more determined as she her tongue flicked my hardened bud. 

I cried out again. I didn’t know whether it was nonsense or what I said actually made sense. I released the bedspread and my trembling fingers travelled lower to disappear into Alexandra’s hair. I tried to tell myself not to pull her hair, but it was impossible not to as I tried to keep her where she was. 

She didn’t need me to tell her that, though. Nor did she need my guidance. With a soft pop she released my clit from her lips, and then I felt the very tip of her tongue at my entrance. 

“Yes!” I hissed. Was I giving her permission or simply expressing myself loudly? I had no idea. And I didn’t bother thinking about it either. 

Her tongue slid into me with absolutely no resistance. I wasn’t surprised. I couldn’t remember the last time I had ever wanted anything this much. 

Maybe never. Maybe she had awakened something deep inside me. 

My fingers threaded restlessly through her hair again, and whatever anxiety I had felt when I realized what she was doing, completely melted away. I felt both like I was floating, and so completely in sync with my body. More aware of myself than I had ever been before. And god, Alexandra knew exactly what to do. She found a perfect rhythm and kept that exact pace as she angled her tongue in perfect line with the spot inside me that made my thighs quake and my brain mushy. The tip of her nose brushed against my clit with each thrust.

“D-don’t stop,” I breathed. “P-please don’t stop!” 

She didn’t. Instead she sped up her movements until I was screaming into the ceiling. 

My back arched almost painfully. I couldn’t hold back anymore. My mouth fell open and I released this completely foreign, animalistic moan I had no idea I was capable of making. A moment of complete stillness. A moments anticipation. And then raw, unbridled pleasure exploded in my body. Rolled through my veins like fire. Flooded my mind. I screamed again, but the sound was oddly muffled. White lights burned through my eyelids. I couldn’t help myself as I tugged at her hair. Had I been capable of doing so, I would have reminded myself not to pull her hair, but my brain was incapable of forming any thoughts right now. 

With an unceremonious thud, my body flopped back on the bed. I felt completely limp. My mind was still just as mushy, but I was aware enough to notice that Alexandra hadn’t moved much. Her tongue was now on my inner thighs, gently swirling over my skin and the wetness I could feel there. I was too dazed to feel actual shame. 

For a moment I thought she was trying to work me up to a second orgasm, but then I felt her hands on my knees as she eased herself up from her position between my legs. 

And now I opened my eyes. Just in time to see her wipe the corners of her mouth with her thumb and then lick her lips. She was grinning. Actually grinning at me. Almost in a look-what-I-can-do-manner. And her dress wasn’t even wrinkled. She was obviously proud of herself.

That smug.......

“How was that?” she teased sweetly. 

“Mmmmm,” was the only thing coming out of my mouth. 

Alexandra laughed. “I’m glad you think so. You should probably get some sleep now.” 

But I suddenly remembered the vow I had made to myself last night. I tried to fight off the sleepiness as I sat up in the bed and grasped her elbow to make her come closer. 

She willingly came closer to me, but when I brought my still slightly trembling fingers up to fumble with the zipper in her dress, she gently batted my hand away. 

“I appreciate the effort, but I doubt you would be able to,” she said. 

“But I want to....” 

“Not tonight, sweet girl,” she said. 

That gave me hope. “Does that mean you’ll let me another night?” I whispered. 

“Perhaps,” she snickered. “If you’re lucky. Now sleep.” She easily wiggled out of my grasp and the bed creaked when she stood from it. 

“Where are you going?” I asked. She wasn’t leaving, was she? No. No. She couldn’t leave. 

“To change,” she said and found what looked like a ball of silk in her purse. It took me ten solid seconds to realize it was some sort of nightgown. 

“Are you coming back?” I asked dumbly. My mouth was saying idiotic stuff. 

“Yes, sweetpea. I have no intention of leaving wearing only my nightgown,” Alexandra chuckled. Then she went into the bathroom. 

I tried to keep my eyes open long enough to at least get a glimpse of her, but of course that was impossible. By the time the bed creaked again, and I could feel her close to me, I was already half asleep..........

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd just like to say THANK YOU to the people who are kind enough to leave kudo's to this story! It literally means everything to me :D


	26. Chapter Twenty Six

My head felt heavy when I slowly lifted it from the pillow the next morning. I rubbed my cheek in an attempt to make the “pillow marks” go away, and for a moment I wondered why I had woken up so suddenly. 

That was when I picked up on the sound of a ringing phone. And for once, it wasn’t my phone screeching. It was Alexandra’s. It only took me a second to notice that this was a different phone from the one Alexandra had received a call on yesterday. 

I scoffed. Escort girl, I reminded myself. Of course she has two phones. 

The phone kept screeching, and depraved of more sleep, I sat up in the bed, pulling the duvets up to cover myself a little. The room was empty, but I was pretty sure Alexandra hadn’t left like the last time. Otherwise she wouldn’t have left her phone. 

No, I could hear her move around in the bathroom. She was probably getting dressed, I realized. I had missed another opportunity. 

The phone kept screeching and I turned my head, glaring at it while I considered to call out for Alexandra and ask her to make the noise stop. 

That was when I noticed that the display on the phone was turning upwards. I wasn’t even trying to pry. I just accidentally glanced at the screen. 

Sylvia Garnett calling, the screen informed me. 

I pursed my lips slightly. Garnett. Garnett. Where had I heard that before? There was definitely something familiar about that name. 

“Doctor Garnett, this is my daughter Celine.” 

“Doctor Garnett, nice to meet you.” 

My eyes widened as the realization hit me. Sylvia Garnett. Doctor Sylvia Garnett. My mother’s colleague. I had met her at The Fairmont Olympic. I had shaken her hand when my mother had introduced us at that conference. And I could still vaguely remember the middle aged doctor with the bleached teeth and the hair, painfully obvious colored to make up for the fact that it was going grey. 

I stared at the phone. Sylvia Garnett was still trying to reach Alexandra. Doctor Garnett. No fucking way. 

Maybe I was a naïve little girl, but dr. Garnett did not strike me as the type who reached out to an Escort girl. 

But then again, Alexandra didn’t strike me as the type who was an Escort girl. 

I was being naïve again, but I was sure Sylvia Garnett was married. Yes. She was. I had met her husband later that night before I had “fled the scene” and bumped into Greta. 

Jesus Christ, was Alexandra with dr. Garnett at the hotel? 

My head was beginning to hurt slightly. It was too early for these kind of revelations. No. No. She couldn’t have been with dr. Garnett at the hotel. I had seen her at the concert with that guy. 

Well, maybe was with both of them, then? Switching between them?

I groaned. My mind wasn’t very helpful.

“Was that the phone I heard?” Alexandra emerged from the bathroom, dressed and done up. In a different dress than the one she wore last night. 

“Yeah.” I said whilst I wondered how many things she could fit into that Mary Poppins bag of hers. 

“Oh.” Alexandra said and smoothened the skirt on her simple, black dress. 

Very appropriately, the phone started screeching again. 

Alexandra quickly snatched it from the nightstand and saw her smirk slightly as she checked the caller ID. Then she brought the phone up to her ear: 

“Sylvia, darling,” she said sultrily. “How are you?”

The image of the middle aged doctor popped up in my head again and I choked down some bile. 

“I’m doing splendidly, thank you, dear. Now, to what do I owe the pleasure?” 

I firmly reminded myself that I had absolutely no right to feel the way I felt. Alexandra wasn’t mine. She didn’t belong to me. Not even in the slightest. 

My stomach tightened uncomfortably. 

“Well, I do believe that can be arranged, dear,” Alexandra purred. “Shall we say.... seven o’clock at the usual place? Excellent. See you then. Yes, absolutely. You needn’t worry. Until then, dear. Bye.” 

This sort of odd curiosity rose within me, but I couldn’t quite figure out whether I wanted to know about it or not know anything at all. 

But still, I felt like I had to break the silence somehow. “You... You know Dr. Garnett?” I said lamely. Know her? Duh. 

“You know her?” Alexandra shot back and one of her perfectly sculpted eyebrows rose. 

“Yeah. She’s one of my mother’s.... colleagues.” 

“My, my. Small world.” Alexandra said as she tapped away on her phone. 

I nearly stumbled as I rose from bed. My foot was entangled in the bedding. 

Alexandra chuckled. “Careful, sweetpea.” 

That would have made me feel all warm and fuzzy if I hadn’t just heard her call someone else “darling”. 

“She’s married,” I blurted out before I could stop myself as I shrugged on a robe. 

“Who is?” Alexandra asked, and her ice blue eyes snapped up from the phone. 

“Dr. Garnett.” I said and regretted it instantly. Alexandra probably didn’t give a damn about that. And neither should I. 

But to my surprise, Alexandra chuckled slightly. “I know she is. Her husband is very sweet.” 

My eyebrow rose. “You know her husband too?” 

“Yes. He’s the one who answered the door when I first visited Sylvia.” Alexandra calmly answered. 

Now I was actually intrigued. And I couldn’t for the life of me imagine why. Alexandra’s work was something I tried not to think too much about. But something still prompted me to ask: “So he knew that   
his wife......” 

Alexandra shrugged. “From what I understand Doctor and Mr. Garnett have an open marriage.” 

I snorted. Imagine if my mother found out that her respectable colleague.... No. I wasn’t gonna connect Alexandra with anything that wasn’t respectable. But I was pretty sure my mother would be appalled if she found out what her colleague did outside work. 

“And that information doesn’t leave this room, right, Céline?” 

“Of course not.” I said. “So, Mr. Garnett was totally fine with the fact that you and Dr. Garnett......”

Alexandra’s eyebrow rose again. “Are you quite sure you’re not writing some sort paper about the escort business. Miss Welles?” 

“I’m not,” I said. “I’m just... curious.” 

“About many things it would seem,” Alexandra deadpanned, but then she humored me: “Yes, Hugo was totally fine with his wife wanting to explore other options.” 

“Hugo?” I echoed. 

Alexandra just shrugged. 

I had heard of more bizarre things, of course I had. But the idea that Sylvia Garnett was messing around with Alexandra and her husband was completely fine with it, was, well.... not what I had expected. 

Alexandra chuckled dryly. “You are quite easy to shock, miss Welles.” 

Now I was the one who shrugged. 

“I told you, you’re not the first curious woman I have encountered, and Sylvia Garnett...” Alexandra clicked her tongue. “I can’t for the life of me imagine why she didn’t explore other options sooner.” 

My cheeks reddened. 

Alexandra chuckled again. “Marriage is all about compromising.” 

“Right.” 

Our conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door. I nearly jumped out of my skin by the sound and the voice announcing: “Room service!” 

“Relax,” Alexandra scoffed. “I’ve already told you there are no monsters in the closet. Nothing is gonna eat you.” Her eyes gleamed slightly.

I ignored that little innuendo. “You ordered room service?” 

“Yes. I figured you would be hungry.” Alexandra said plainly as she strode over to the door and opened it. I heard her exchange a few pleasantries with the hotel clerk, and then she rolled a table on wheels into the hotel room. 

I gawked slightly at the table. Creamy eggs benedict. Bacon. A whole stack of toast. Jam. Sausages. Chocolate frosted donuts. Fried tomatoes. Different kinds of fruit neatly sliced.

“Eat,” Alexandra said plainly. 

“Did you order all this for me?” 

“No,” Alexandra chuckled as she snatched a piece of toast. “I’m hungry too.”

“Why is it that you insist upon buying....” 

“Why not?” she interrupted, shrugging again. “I might as well spend my money on something sensible. And making sure your stomach isn’t empty when you leave seems very sensible.” 

I wrapped the hotel bathrobe tighter around myself as I sat down on the edge of the bed again and grabbed the plate and started loading food onto it. 

Alexandra quickly consumed the piece of toast and turned her attention to the plate full of fruit. 

“Can I ask you something?” I said as she pulled one of the armchairs over to sit across me. 

“I think you already are,” she teased. “But go ahead.” 

“Why did you become an Escort?” 

She raised an eyebrow. 

My cheeks reddened. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.” 

Alexandra waved my apology off. “I needed money. Urgently. Finding a job after finishing my education at Princeton wasn’t exactly easy.” she shook her head. “Plus, I ran into some difficulties that   
unfortunately meant I didn’t have a place to live. And being freshly out of college without a job or a place to live isn’t exactly ideal, so I had to think of some other way to make money.” 

“How long have you been....”

“Since I was twenty three.” 

I took a moment to absorb that. 11 years. Alexandra had been an Escort for 11 years. 

“What brought you to Seattle?” I asked curiously. I still knew so little of Alexandra. 

“Hopes of a different job,” Alexandra said as she elegantly speared a piece of fruit on her fork. “And my grandfather left me his old house boat. Coming here made sense.”

“But the thing with the job didn’t...”

“No, some things are simply not meant to be,” Alexandra dully finished my unfinished question. “Things got in the way and I needed money again.” 

“Why?” I asked rather blatantly and instantly wanted to bite my tongue off. I was prying. 

“Seattle’s an expensive city too.” 

I nodded. She was right about that. My mother often complained about how costly living in Seattle was, and then she made me feel guilty by saying that we lived here because she “wanted to give me the   
very best”. 

Except the luxury of choosing. She didn’t want to give me that. 

“Since we’re playing twenty questions,” Alexandra said slyly. “What about you, Céline?” 

“What about me?” 

“Harvard was it?” Alexandra asked. 

“No... Yes.... I hope not,” I sighed. “It’s not really what I want.” 

“No, you wanted to write, isn’t that correct?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Then why don’t you?” Alexandra asked plainly. “Have you ever actually written something that didn’t have anything to do with your education?” 

“I have written... some,” I muttered and blushed. I had written a lot. About her. “And I also have a blog.” I don’t know why I told her that. 

“A blog?” she asked. “What kind of blog?” 

“It’s silly.” 

“I’ll be the judge of that. Now tell me.” 

“I blog about movies. Mostly old ones, but sometimes newer ones too.” 

“And what are your favorites?”

“Uhh...” lately anything with Lauren Bacall. “The Big Sleep. The Philadelphia Story. Gone with the Wind. Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Casablanca. Psycho. Laura. Rear Window. Rosemary’s Baby, and uhh...” okay, I   
THINK you’ve mentioned enough movies, Celine. Shut up.

“You have an excellent taste,” Alexandra said. “What’s the name of your blog?” 

“Why?” 

“I’m curious,” Alexandra said plainly. 

“Uhh....” I stalled. There were several pictures of Lauren Bacall at my blog, and Alexandra was smart enough to find the connection. It would make me look like a pathetic little girl. 

“Indulge me,” Alexandra said silkily in that tone she used ever so often. 

Moth to flame. 

“Sleepless in Seattle,” I admitted. 

“Very creative.”

“Not really. I actually don’t sleep very good at night.” 

“You slept fine last night.” 

“Yeah... I did.” I acknowledged. I did sleep fine last night. Exactly like I had done the two other times I had ended up in bed with Alexandra. I hadn’t really thought about it until now, but I had been   
nightmare free the nights I had spent with Alexandra. 

“Why can’t you sleep at night?” Alexandra asked and took a sip of her tea. 

I didn’t answer. Grizzly images popped up in my head, and once again I could hear the terrible, sharp sound of two cars colliding. Tires screeching. And then the sirens. The ambulance driver saying my name again and again, demanding that I stayed awake. 

“I suppose we all have things that keeps us up at night,” Alexandra mused more to herself than to me. 

“Yeah.” I said, finally snapping out of it. 

“Well,” Alexandra said and downed the rest of her tea. “We better finish up in here.”

“Right.” 

We finished breakfast and I went into the bathroom to take a shower. As I washed my hair, I regretted I hadn’t been smart enough to bring a change of clothing like Alexandra. This was beginning to resemblance the famous “walk of shame”. 

But I couldn’t very well go back in time and pack extra clothing, so I tried not to think too much of the fact that I was going to leave the hotel wearing the exact same dress as I did yesterday. 

I rinsed my hair until it was free of shampoo, then I wrenched water out of it and tied it back in a bun. 

And then I stepped back into said dress from last night. It had gotten a bit wrinkly from lying on the floor. It didn’t take me long to think back of the way Alexandra had taken the dress off me last night, and my cheeks burned again. 

After brushing my teeth with the hotel toothbrush, I stepped out of the bathroom. 

Alexandra was already prepared to leave, wearing her fur collar coat and high heels. 

I sat down on the edge of the bed and slipped my boots on. 

“Are you ready to leave?” she asked as she studied her reflection in the full figure mirror. 

“Yeah.” 

“Then let’s go. I’ll take you home.” 

My eyebrow rose as I opened my mouth to protest, but Alexandra quickly cut me off: 

“I brought you here, didn’t I? It seems only fitting that I take you home too. Now come on.” 

I shrugged my leather jacket on and followed her out of the hotel room. 

 

  
**********************

 

Alexandra was quiet in the car on the way back to my house. It was odd. It was almost like she changed her mind the morning after and regretted what had happened the night before. 

But I didn’t. I had no qualms about what had happened between us last night. No regrets. No second thoughts. And I was fully prepared to tell her that if she plowed forward with how this couldn’t happen again. 

A moment later, we pulled up in front of house. 

“There we are, miss Welles. Back home safe and soundly.” 

“Yeah, thanks.” 

Alexandra nodded, the slightest movement in her chin. 

“So.... When can I see you again?” not “when do I get to see you again” nor “do I see you again”. Phrasing it like that could be dangerous. It could mean that she was gonna say no. 

Alexandra looked out of the window, completely aloof. “I’m not sure,” she said slowly. “I’m gonna be quite busy, and I imagine the same thing goes for you?” 

“I have the finals coming up pretty soon and I’m pretty OCD when it comes to studying in advantage, but afterwards...”

She shot me a look and I too could hear the eagerness seeping through every words. 

I waited as she absorbed my words, and I contemplated whether I was prepared to actually beg her for another meeting. 

“Very well,” she said after a moment of silence. “Perhaps I’ll reach out to you once you’re done studying.” she reached across me and opened the door to the passenger seat. 

“Can I call you?” I bursted out. “I mean, until then?” 

She shook her head. “I’ll be flying to Geneva tomorrow, and I’ll most likely be staying there for three months. I don’t think your phone bill would be grateful if you called me there.” 

“You’re probably right about that.” I wondered what was in Geneva, but my stomach also clenched painfully at the idea of Alexandra being away. I wasn’t sure I liked that. Three months? That was such a long time. How was I gonna cope with the fact that she wouldn’t be around for three months? Three. Months. The idea of that made my throat constrict a little. Three months seemed like impossible long time.

“You better leave,” Alexandra said quietly. 

“Yeah.” I wiggled slightly as I unbuckled the seatbelt. 

“Oh, and Céline?” she said as I practically had one foot out of the car.

“Yeah?” 

“Good luck with your finals,” she said. “I’m sure you’ll do splendidly. Especially in biology.” 

I didn’t know when, but one day I would murder Michelle for ever mentioning my teacher lie to Alexandra. 

My cheeks reddened again. 

“Take care of yourself,” Alexandra laughed. “Don’t get drunk. Avoid Pioneer Square.” 

Now she actually sounded like a teacher, and I felt tempted to answer with a “yes, miss.” But I wasn’t quite bold enough. 

“And,” she added and smirked again. “Remember to cover that nasty bruise on your neck.” 

“Right. Got it.” 

I stumbled out of the Mercedes with my purse dangling from my arm. Alexandra immediately turned the car around and I remained standing on the pavement until I couldn’t see her car anymore.

I didn’t know when I was gonna see her again. She had said she would “reach out to me”, but that was pretty vague. It could mean anything. And nothing. I couldn’t even call her. Well, I could, but there wouldn’t be any answer. 

Being upset about not knowing when I was gonna see or hear from her again, was definitely skirting the “no illusions”-rule, but I couldn’t help it. And she would never know about it. 

She couldn’t be angry about it if she didn’t know. I was allowed her to miss her just a little.

What’s in Geneva? I wondered as I walked up the porch and unlocked the door. From America to Switzerland. That was quite the journey, and I couldn’t help but wonder what was so important, she had to   
fly all the way to Europe. 

I still didn’t know her. I could get close to her, but I couldn’t quite reach her. 

And it bothered me. 

It bothered me that she had a way to make me spill all my secrets, while she herself was still a mystery. Like the town she walked at night, she was still cloaked in shadows. 

And something else was bothering me too. 

If she was leaving for Geneva tomorrow, and I could be sure that she was gonna stay there for a longer period of time......

Then it meant that she had an appointment with Sylvia Garnett tonight. 

Tonight, she was gonna check into a hotel with someone that wasn’t me. 

And I could twist and turn it however I wanted, but I was jealous. I had no right to be, but I was. 

And of course, that was ridiculous. 

She’s not yours.

You don’t own her. 

She said, “no strings attached” and you agreed. 

You have no right to be jealous. 

My jealousy was irrational. Inappropriate. I knew that. And I tried my best to squash those irrational feelings as I walked inside the empty house. 

My mood took another dive as I came into the living room. I was home alone, but my mother had definitely been here at some point. 

There was an application form lying on the table along with a pencil, an envelope and the leaflet from Harvard. 

The implication was painfully obvious. Fill out the application form, Celine. Send the application, Celine. Do what your mother wants you to do, Celine. 

I glanced over the application form. My mother had already ticked out the little box that said “medicine”. How kind of her. 

I decided that the damned application form could wait another five minutes. I left it lying on the table as I went upstairs to dump my purse and pull the dress over my head and change into a pair of   
sweatpants and a tanktop. Then I released my still slightly damp hair from the bun and let it fall down past my shoulders as it air dried. 

I padded back downstairs with my phone in my pocket. Might as well get this over with. I knew it would cause a scene if the application was still lying on the table when my mother got back from work   
later. But I had barely cast a glance at it before my phone became too distracting. I had to check what had happened on Instagram while I had been.... occupied. 

It turned out very little had happened on Instagram. Hannah had posted a new food picture. She was very fond of those. And Michelle had posted yet another photo of herself and Steve with the hashtag “my one and only”. I doubted it, but I never the less liked the picture as I did Hannah’s food picture. 

After Instagram came Facebook. Nothing new had happened there either. Then came Snapchat. A couple of updates from both Hannah and Michelle. And Allen. I briefly wondered whether I should delete him or not. 

I decided not to delete him right now. That would only seem cruel. And I had been cruel enough already. 

As I swiped Snapchat away, I knew I couldn’t stall for much longer. It was application time. I couldn’t run from it. 

That damn application. My first and biggest impulse was to rip it to shreds instead of filling it out. 

At least there was one more thing I could do before having to deal with reality. I could check my blog. I hadn’t had the chance to do that in a couple of days. 

So, I quickly opened my blog and to my surprise, it had gained a few follower. And there was a new comment too. 

I quickly clicked the comment to see what it was about. Maybe it was just a useless link to some virus-infected page. I often got spam messages. 

But this was no spam message. For once it was a genuine one, and even though it was short and written by someone with the name “anonymous”, my cheeks still heated up as I read the comment   
underneath my review and analyze of “Lolita”: 

“A +. Spot on.”


	27. Chapter Twenty Seven

One last test to go.

Just one more.

And that was a huge fucking relief. The three months had flown by in a blurry haze of studying, studying, studying. And more studying. And then passing the tests. Now there was only one more test to go.

I could hold it together until the last test.

Finishing high school definitely felt like some sort of turning point. I was Growing Up. It was time to Spready My Wings And Fly. 

The question was, where was I gonna fly off to? 

In my mothers’ eyes, there was only one choice. Harvard. 

Maybe getting closer to graduation had opened my eyes. Something had shifted. I was fed up with this charade. So while I dutifully had filled out the application form, I hadn’t sent it. The addressed envelope was still lying in my bedside drawer. 

I still needed to find a way to tell my mother that I wasn’t gonna send the application. Nor that was I was gonna fly to Boston in two months and get a tour of the campus. 

I was done. I was just done. I couldn’t keep pretending just to please her. The insanity had to stop at some point. She had to accept that I wanted to do something else with my life. 

And I was beginning to get some clarity over what that “something” was. Maybe these three months of almost uninterrupted studying had been good for me anyway. 

First, I would take a gap year. Get a chance to catch my breath. With both working jobs after school and busting my ass off at school, I deserved a break. And with the money I had earned, I could allow myself to maybe take a trip at some point during those twelve months. Or maybe continue working and eventually earning enough money to get away from Seattle and my mother. 

Yes, I was relieved that I was almost done with high school. But not only because it meant that I was done with school. 

Focusing a hundredth percent on the finals had been tough. 

Alexandra kept invading my mind in every way possible. She ruined my sleep schedule. For three months straight, I hadn’t had a single nightmare about the accident. Instead I had dreamed of her. I was   
almost optimistic enough to believe that my insomnia had been cured. About fucking time. One year and some months after the accident. 

She kept haunting my dreams in ways that had me waking up gasping for air, and I swore, I could still feel her hands on me when I woke up. 

Was I allowed to miss her? 

No, probably not. 

That probably went against the “no strings attached”-rule. 

But I did miss her. 

I missed seeing her smirk or hearing her let out one of her throaty laughs. 

I missed her, but I also wondered. 

Wondered what was in Geneva. Wondered what was keeping her there for three months. A holiday was out of the question given how she had just been in Switzerland when I last saw her. 

No, there had to be a specific reason. 

But I couldn’t figure out what that reason was. And I wasn’t sure I was allowed too. speculating about Alexandra’s private affairs was definitely going against the promise she had taken from me at her   
houseboat. 

The “thing” between us was about sex and only that. That was the deal. 

And that was beginning to nag me. 

I didn’t want it to nag me, but I couldn’t just force myself to feel differently. 

Something had shifted in those three months she had been gone.

Maybe this wasn’t just about lust and curiosity for me anymore. 

Maybe I was beginning to actually feel something. 

Something I under no circumstances was allowed to feel, but now while she was gone, I could feel how big of a void Alexandra’s absence actually had left in me. 

There’s a very poignant difference between infatuation and....

No. 

I didn’t even dare thinking it.

I reminded myself of the very simple rule Alexandra had set up. No strings attached. No illusions. And no feelings. 

A simple rule indeed. 

A simple rule I was “maybe kind of sort of” about to violate. 

Maybe it was a part of my late teen rebellion. Breaking the rules. 

But telling Alexandra that was out of the question. She had made it perfectly clear. 

And I had agreed. 

And I had agreed. That almost made me laugh. What sort of idiot was I? Did I consider myself a superhuman who was perfectly capable of not violating the rule? 

That made me wonder too. 

How many people before me had fallen for Alexandra? 

Had it happened with one of her clients? Or several? 

And why was it she insisted on “no illusions”? Why didn’t she want something more in her life than just “clients”? 

There was a difference of feeling comfortable in her own company and shutting a metaphorical door completely. 

I was no therapist, but to me, that was what Alexandra was doing. 

The image of her celebrating her birthday alone on some night open coffee house popped up in my mind before I could scold myself and then remind myself that it wasn’t my business. 

The only time where Alexandra was my business was when we met at a hotel. And that was it.

 

*************

 

Two weeks before the last, big test, and exactly three months after I has said goodbye to Alexandra, I still hadn’t heard from her. Not a peep. I knew I shouldn’t have expected to, but I couldn’t help it.

I had considered to call her, but I was afraid to only get her voicemail again. 

Maybe she had changed her mind again like she had done before. 

Maybe she had reached the conclusion that carrying on with an eighteen year old was a bad idea. 

Or maybe she had simply gotten tired of me. Maybe something had changed in those three months she had been away. Maybe she found our little “affair” pointless. Something that could easily be   
stopped. 

But she hadn’t appeared tired of me when we said our goodbyes in her car. She had been flirtatious. Maybe even a little playful.

The following silence from her didn’t make sense. 

I told myself there was about a million different reasons why she hadn’t called. She was probably just busy. 

And then I reminded myself to be patient. Maybe she was jetlagged. Yes, that was probably it. 

She would call me. 

She had to. 

I could be patient. Of course I could. I had managed three months without her. I didn’t know exactly how, but I had managed. What was so bad about managing a bit more? Seeing her wasn’t pressingly   
urgent in anyway. 

Or maybe it was. 

If it was, I refused to admit it to myself. 

No strings attached, Celine. No illusions. 

Fuck that rule. 

So another week crept by. A week where absolutely nothing happened. And I didn’t dare calling her, afraid of either bothering her or getting her voicemail. I tried to keep myself busy. Tried to remind   
myself that I had somehow survived the finals. 

But on the eight day something happened. 

And not in the form of a call from Alexandra. 

No, what happened was something extremely bad. 

Something I kind of had expected for a while, but still shook me to the core. 

Mainly because I had been so busy with thinking of Alexandra, it had completely blindsided me. 

It happened one late evening when I got back from Hannah’s. Early tomorrow, she would be leaving with her mom to get a guided tour at a University of Washington. She started early. We weren’t done   
with the finals yet. We hadn’t even graduated yet, and off she was, to take the next step. Maybe there had been a mix-up. Maybe Hannah was in fact my mother’s daughter instead of me. 

After wishing Hannah good luck Michelle and I parted ways. She was gonna “hit the city” with Steve, she didn’t give a “rats ass” about the last, upcoming test. And she had begged me to come along,   
claiming that it was gonna be so much fun. 

But I didn’t really feel like third wheeling tonight, so I had said thanks but no thanks. I was tired after marathon studying. I was completely out of it after dozing myself up on coffee while studying. I was   
worried about getting good grades. I was anxious about the last test. I just wanted to sleep. Preferably until graduation. 

But it very quickly became obvious that sleep was not on the program for tonight. When I stepped inside the living room, my mother was sitting at the kitchen table, tapping away on her laptop. 

I cringed a little bit. Why was she home now? Wasn’t she supposed to have a twenty four long shift at the hospital or a fancy dinner with her colleges or something like that? I had seen very little of her in   
those three months I had been studying, and it had kind of been refreshing.

“Hey.” I muttered and debated whether I could skip any further pleasantries and disappear upstairs. 

“Where have you been?” she asked. 

“At Hannah’s. She’s visiting University of Washington with her mom tomorrow, so...” I left the sentence hanging as I opened the fridge. I knew I had left a donut. 

“You shouldn’t eat that, honey. You want to look nice in the graduation pictures, don’t you?” 

“I’ll look fine,” I said as I took a bite of the donut. 

My mother scowled. “Really, Celine, you shouldn’t be eating that trash. I wish you would think a little more of your appearance.” 

I rolled my eyes. She always claim that vanity is a sin and bla-bla-bla.

“What do you think your future patients will think of an overweight doctor?” 

Okay, I’m not even gonna answer that. But my jaw tightened, and the donut tasted of parchment in my mouth. 

“Have you figured out what you are gonna wear for your Harvard interview?” 

“No.” I said plainly. 

“Well, don’t you think it’s about time you started thinking about that?” she huffed. 

I just shrugged. 

My mother clicked her tongue in disdain. “Really, Celine. You can’t keep postponing thinking of your future. I thought you were on the right path when you ended things with that boy and started focusing more on school.” 

“I broke up with Allen because it didn’t feel right anymore. It had nothing to do with school.” 

She completely overheard that. “Building a career is the most important thing. Everything else comes after that.” 

Yeah, I know that. “Not everyone wants to be alone.” 

She overheard that too. “I think it would be best if you and I went shopping for an appropriate outfit for your interview.” 

“I have a closet full of clothes already.” 

“And none of it is fitting for a Harvard interview, dear.” She let out one of her false laughs. “You can’t show up for a Harvard interview wearing jeans. It’s simply not suitable.” 

“Whatever.” 

She didn’t like that. Her voice became hard as steel as she said: “Don’t use that tone with me, Celine. You should show a little gratitude. What would you do if I didn’t take care of things for you?” 

Breathe normally, probably. 

“You would get nowhere with your life,” she wheedled on and slammed- no closed the laptop shut. My mother was not a slammer. 

“Mother, can we please not have this discussion right now?” I sighed. “I’m kinda tired...” 

But she paid little attention to that. “You would simply end up selling burgers in some low priced burger joint.” 

“That is not true!” 

“Isn’t it?” she laughed falsely once more as she rose from her chair. “Well, then I suggest you pull yourself together.” 

Bla, bla, bla. “I’m going to bed,” I announced and spun around on my heels. I was definitely done listening to this shit. It was always the same bullshit coming out of her mouth, and I was fed up with it. 

And she just kept going. Bla-bla-bla. Nothing new. Always the same. I shook my head

“....Heavens Celine, you hadn’t even sent the application yet!” 

I froze with one foot on the staircase. “What?” I said and turned around. Suddenly, I was completely present.

“But you have nothing to worry about, sweetie. I found it lying in your bedside drawer and sent it off. And then I phoned the professor and explained the little mistake. He was very understanding. The   
deadline isn’t until next month, so you’re still a fitting candidate, and you’re still flying to Boston to get that tour.” 

“You... You sent it?” I whispered. 

“Yes, of course I did,” mother said and patted my cheek lightly. “Imagine if I hadn’t found that envelope lying around in your bedside drawer. What would you have done then, hmm? But don’t worry,   
sweetie. Come hell or high water, you will be studying at Harvard.” 

I could have sworn the world blackened around me for a moment. 

“Well, aren’t you pleased?” she asked and raised an eyebrow. “Thanks to me, your future is still secure. Thanks to me, you’ll get the best chance.” 

The best chance? The BEST chance?! I couldn’t believe this. I simply couldn’t. “You had no right to go through my stuff,” I said. 

“What do you mean I had no right,” my mother scoffed. “ I had every right. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have found the application. Don’t be silly, Celine.” 

I swallowed something. “I didn’t forget to send the application.” 

“I beg your pardon?” 

“I left it in the drawer on purpose.” I said. My hands had curled into fists, but for once, I wouldn’t let her trample all over me. This time, I was gonna give her a piece of my mind. 

“You did what?!” mother snapped. “Kindly explain to me why on earth you would do such a silly thing.” 

“You and I don’t want the same thing for me,” I said. 

“And what’s that supposed to mean? I want you to have your best chance!” 

“Yeah, so do I. But my best chance isn’t Harvard. Or studying medicine.” 

“What?” she spat. Unlike me, she was already on edge. 

But all my bottled up anger towards her had reached a point that made me completely calm as I said: “I don’t want to study medicine, mother. I never have. And if you had paid a little more attention you   
would have noticed.” 

That rocked her world, I could see that. Her mouth twisted horribly as she said: “Let me tell you something, young lady. I have not worked extra hours and reached out to important people only for you to throw everything away!” 

“And have you ever asked me what I want?” I asked. 

“You want to do something with your life!” she hissed. “You want to make the most of what you’ve got, that what’s you want you want! You are my daughter, and my daughter doesn’t leave Harvard applications in her bedside drawer on purpose, so stop this foolishness!” 

I forced myself to overhear that. “You’ve never asked me because you’ve never cared,” I whispered and could feel my eyes brimming with unshed tears.

“Are you calling me a bad mother? After everything I’ve done for you?!” 

“I’ve never asked you to do those things for me!” I exclaimed. My calm façade was slipping. “I’ve never asked you to drag me along to medical conferences or reach out to Harvard professors! If only you   
had listened to me once in a while you would know that I don’t want to become a doctor! I’m not... I’m not you, mother.” 

“And what do you want to do then, hmm?” she spat. “Babysit for the rest of your life? Work at the cinema?!” 

“I want to write.” I said. “I have wanted that since I was nine years old. Nine. But not once have you bothered to....” 

“Write?” she interrupted me, and the word was dripping with venom. “Writing is not a career, Celine. Writing will get you nowhere. Perhaps you’ll land a small job at some local newspaper. Is that really   
what you want to do with your life?” 

“Maybe.” I said. “Or maybe I’ll write a book.” 

“A book?” she said harshly. “And what, pray tell will you write about? Your exciting life? The struggle of getting by with no money?” 

“I don’t know,” I snapped. “Maybe I’ll write about what it was like growing up with a controlling, dominating mother who constantly pressured me into thinking there was only one way of living my life!” 

“How dare you! If I’ve pushed you it was only to give you your best chance at having a decent life! I’ve done everything to make sure you didn’t make the same mistakes as I did, I fail to see why that is so   
horrible!” 

“The same mistakes as you did?” I echoed. “What’s that supposed to mean, mother?” 

She didn’t answer. Instead she folded her arms across her chest. 

“Do you mean me?” I asked. My hands were starting to tremble. “Am I the mistake of your life, mother?” 

She still didn’t answer. And she refused to meet my gaze. 

“AM I?!” I yelled. “DO YOU LOOK AT ME EVERY DAY AND REGRET YOUR CHOICE?!” 

“You need to calm down.” 

“DON’T TELL ME TO CALM DOWN!” I screamed, and the sound echoed in my ears. 

“Don’t you yell at me, Celine!” 

“I YELL LIKE I GODDAMN PLEASE! IS IT MY FAULT, MOTHER?! AM I TO BLAME BECAUSE YOU NEVER GOT TO BE SOME ADORED PROFESSOR IN FUCKING MEDICINE?!” 

“Don’t take that tone with me, Celine!” but my mother’s façade was slipping too. 

She didn’t even deny it. Unbelievably. 

“You know what,” I said. It felt like I had lost my ability to scream at her. 

“I feel sorry for you, mother. I really do. I’m really sorry you never got your perfect life. I’m really sorry you never got to be a professor. But do you know what I’m most sorry about? I’m really, really sorry   
you had a little too much to drink and hooked up with some random guy...” 

“How dare you!” 

“And I am so sorry the condom broke and you suddenly ended up with....” 

The rest of the sentence died on my lips. The slap was as loud as a clap as her palm landed on my cheek. I staggered backwards, and the sound echoed in my ears. 

I looked at her. She had slapped me. For a solid twenty seconds I didn’t understand what that meant. I could believe that had actually happened. Never in my wildest imagination had I thought that she   
could do something like this. She was manipulative and controlling, but actually hitting me. 

I looked at her again. Who was she? Did I even know her? Did I even know this woman I called my mother? I couldn’t recognize her. Maybe I had never been able to. 

There had been multiple occasions where I had thought that this, this is the final straw, but this time I wasn’t in doubt. This really was the final straw. Case closed. 

“Celine...” she said and took a step towards me as she lowered her hand. 

“Don’t,” I said. I sounded more surprised than hurt, really. 

“Celine,” she said again. “I should not have done that, but what you said...” 

A hysterical laughter slipped past my lips. “You slapped me.” and that little “but” did it for me. Her sentence should have been “I should not have done that”. Period. There shouldn’t have been a “but”.   
Because no matter what I had said to her, she should not have slapped me. What I had said was the thing that mattered the least in this situation. 

“I’m done,” I said plainly. I still sounded oddly calm. My ears felt clogged. Like my voice was coming from afar. 

“Celine...” 

That was the third time she had said my name, but she could just as well had spoken a different language. I patted my pockets to make sure my phone was still there, and then I spun around on my heel   
again. But this time I aimed for the front door instead of the stairs. 

My mother half-ran as she followed me into the hall. “I’m your mother!” she said. But it sounded more like a defense than a plea. 

“Are you?” I asked. “Since when?” 

I didn’t stay long enough to hear her answer. My heart hammered as I hopped onto my bicycle and pedaled away from my home.

I hadn’t thought it through. I hadn’t considered next step. I had just left the house. And one thing was certain. I was sure as hell not gonna go back. I meant what I said. I was done with Maura Welles and   
her regime of control and manipulation. 

But what was I supposed to do? Where was I supposed to go? 

Hannah was preparing for a tour of a university with her parents. I couldn’t show up at her place and disrupt her plans. Friends or not, that wouldn’t be fair to her. I knew how nervous she was about   
visiting the university. She didn’t need an extra thing to worry about. 

Michelle was out, painting the town with Steve. And even if I did call her, she probably wouldn’t be very sober. Definitely not in any position to help me. I knew I could always count on sober Michelle, but   
drunk Michelle.... That was a different story. 

I very briefly considered to call Allen, but quickly dismissed that idea. No, I couldn’t do that. 

There was only one more person I could think of. 

And my heart was hammering as I dialed her number whilst I pedaled down the street. I had some crazy idea that my mother was out looking for me and I had to keep moving. 

I had never been very religious, but I was praying she would answer. If she didn’t, I would be out of options. 

Come on, come on, pick up, pick up. Please just answer the phone. Please. 

First silence and then those three damned “beep, beep, beep’s”, indicating that the line was engaged. Damnit. Damnit. 

Maybe I was very much Maura Welles’ daughter right now. Maybe it was her genes and inherited stubbornness that prompted me to try one more time. 

“Beep, beep, beep.” 

I waited and wedged the phone between my shoulder and my ear as I crossed the street on my bicycle. 

“Beep, beep, beep.” 

Okay, this was just an extremely crappy day. There was no other way to put it. I had left my purse at home. I didn’t have a penny on me. I didn’t even have enough to a buss ticket. To say it in good old   
fashioned English, I was screwed. I hadn’t even brought a jacket with me. 

“Beep, beep, beep.”

A bus shelter didn’t seem like the best place to spend the night, but maybe that was the only option I had. A night on a bus bench, and then tomorrow, when my mother had left for work, I would sneak   
home and grab my purse and some clothes. And then I would call Michelle and explain the situation for her. 

I rounded another corner on my aimless bike ride. 

“Hello, this is Greta Adams.” 

I almost dropped the phone when the smooth, husky voice answered in the other end. God, after having been denied hearing her voice for three months, this was absolute heaven. Her voice was a healing   
balm straight to where it hurt.

“Hello?” Greta said again. “Who’s this?” 

“It’s me,” I whispered. 

“Céline? Oh, I’m sorry. I promised to call, didn’t I? Do excuse me, but I’m a little tired tonight...” 

“Please don’t hang up on me,” I interrupted. She couldn’t. The idea of her hanging up on me sent me into a frenzy. She couldn’t hang up. 

“What’s going on?” she asked. Now she sounded more alert. 

I didn’t answer that. Not directly anyway. “Something has happened, and I need a place to stay,” I whispered. 

“Céline, what’s going on?” 

“Just for tonight,” I begged. “Please? I don’t know what I’m suppose to...” 

“Where are you?” 

“Mercer Street.” By now my voice was trembling.

“Then stay there. I’m coming to get you.” 

“You don’t have too. I have my bicycle.” 

“I’m coming to get you,” she repeated. “Stay exactly where you are.” 

“Okay.” 

“I’m going to hang up now, alright?” she said gently. “I can’t be on the phone while I’m driving. Stay put and take some deep breaths. Sit down and put your head between your knees if you feel faint,   
alright?” 

“Alright.” 

“Five minutes,” she promised. 

Then she hung up, and I felt completely alone on the dark street. I did as she had instructed and got off the bicycle and sat down on the pavement. I actually felt a little faint. A bit like I was going to be   
sick. 

Maybe my brain was finally catching up with what had happened. My own mother had slapped me. And then she had tried to explain it away. What kind of person was she?! What was wrong with her? What   
impulse made a mother slap her own child? 

My head was spinning, as I sat there, rooted to the pavement. I still felt faint, but I tried to force myself to stay conscious. Alexandra is on her way, remember that. Alexandra is coming for you in five   
minutes. If you faint, she has to take you to the hospital instead of back to her place. 

Stay conscious. Alexandra is on her way. Alexandra is on her way. Alexandra is on her way. You’re going to see her again very soon. Three months means nothing now. She’s coming for you. 

I kept repeating that mantra out loud. Like the night I had first met her, she was my nightly savior. 

And then I saw the lights from a car coming towards me. My head snapped up. I had never been more relieved to see the huge Mercedes. 

A second later, the car pulled up right next to me, and Alexandra stepped out on the pavement. Impeccably dressed in her big fur collar coat, but her hair for once looked a big unruly. Had my call roused   
her from her sleep? 

Her heels clacked as she went around the car and towards me. 

“Alexandra,” I said meekly. God, it was so good to see her again. I’ve missed her so fucking much.

“Can you stand?” she asked as she held out a glove clad hand towards me. 

I think so. I accepted the outstretched hand and clumsily got on my feet. 

“What happened?” she demanded. “Are you hurt?”

No. Well, yes... but probably not in the way she thought. I just shook my head. “Can’t we just get out of here?” I asked quietly. 

“Certainly,” Alexandra said, and she didn’t let go of my hand as she guided me back to her car. I felt every bit grateful when she closed the car door behind me. Her Mercedes was nicely heated up. 

Alexandra climbed onto the driver’s seat and the engine came alive with a soft roar. 

“Did I wake you?” I muttered as we drove away from Mercer Street. 

“That is not relevant right now,” Alexandra said. “I’m far more interested in knowing why you’re out alone on the streets at this hour.” 

“I thought we weren’t supposed to be interested in each other’s private lives,” I murmured, tipping my head back against the seat and closing my eyes. The feeling of being safe washed over me and made   
me sleepy. 

“When someone call me in the middle of the night and tells me she has nowhere else to go, I’m willing to bend the rules just a bit,” Alexandra said. 

I chuckled, but the sound came out a bit hysterical. “Can’t the explanations wait until we’re back at your place?” I didn’t doubt that was where we were headed. 

“Very well,” Alexandra said. 

We drove the rest of the way in complete silence. Well, almost. My phone kept vibrating over and over again, and every time it did, my mother’s number appeared on the screen. 

I switched the phone off. Screw her. 

Alexandra frowned but didn’t say anything. 

I could have cried of pure relief when we reached Union Lake and I saw all the little floating homes popping up around us. 

Alexandra parked the car close to her own floating home and I silently followed her out of the car. She helped me “climb aboard” and then she unlocked the door to the houseboat. 

The first thing I spotted was all her LP’s laying next to the record player. Maybe she hadn’t been asleep at all.

“Sit down,” Alexandra half-ordered.

I sat down. 

“Do you want anything? Tea? Coffee?” 

“You don’t have any vodka, do you?” 

“I do actually, but I don’t think drinking would be the answer here,” Alexandra said as she unbuttoned her coat and shook her curls a little. 

I chuckled and then tilted my head slightly when she nonchalantly draped her coat over a chair. She was only wearing a thin, white silk nightgown with delicate straps. She hadn’t even gotten dressed. She   
had just shrugged a coat over her nightgown and then hopped into her car. 

I rose from the chair again and staggered over to her. 

Alexandra raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Miss Welles, what are you doing?” 

I answered that by slotting our lips together in a kiss. I just had to kiss her. She had come for me. She hadn’t even gotten dressed. She had simply put on a coat. 

I buried my fingers in her soft tresses, and this time it was my tongue that begged for entrance in her mouth. For once, she wasn’t the dominating force. 

And clearly, she didn’t mind that. Her lips parted, and I slipped my tongue into her mouth. Caressed her tongue with my own. I could smell her perfume. Coffee and vanilla. So familiar. So fucking safe. I   
could feel how the instant relief seeped through me, and my mind murmured that being parted from her for three months was too long. 

I was the one who started the kiss, but she was the one who ended it. And she did that by gently but firmly pushing my face away. 

“This doesn’t really explain anything, Miss Welles.” 

“But it helps,” I muttered. 

“Yes, but only for a moment or so.” Alexandra said. “Eventually, you’ll have to explain what’s going on.” 

I deflated. She was right about that. “Okay. But can I have some coffee first?” 

“Yes. Sit down before you pass out.” 

“I’m not gonna- I’ll sit down,” I amended at the look she gave me. 

“Good girl.” Alexandra said with a dry chuckle. 

I looked at her as she walked into the kitchen. My nightly rescuer. My unlikely savior.

Everything was pretty shitty at the moment. The “no illusions”-deal still remained, but at least I was here. In her houseboat. 

I felt safe. I didn’t know whether that categorized as breaking the rules or not, but I didn’t really care about that right now. 

“Thank you,” I said. 

Alexandra looked back over her shoulder. 

“For coming for me.” I clarified. 

“You’re welcome,” she said a bit gruffly as she placed a cup full of steaming hot coffee in front of me. 

I took a sip of it. The kiss had been more effective, but this too was an excellent substitute for oxygen.


	28. Chapter Twenty Eight

“Now, if you could be so kind to explain to me what you were doing alone in the street in the middle of the night,” Alexandra said as she shrugged a long, ebony colored robe over her nightgown. 

But I wasn’t particularly keen on talking about it. Not now, when I was here and felt so safe. As to buy myself time, I looked around in the houseboat, and now I suddenly picked up on the many, black plastic bags that were standing leaning against the wall. They looked like they had been filled to the brim with stuff. 

“I’m having a clean-up,” Alexandra said as to answer my unspoken question. 

“I see.” But to me, it looked like a bit more than just a “clean-up”. It wasn’t just one or two plastic bags she had standing around. It was a whole bunch. 

“You’re throwing a lot of things out,” I commented. 

“And you are avoiding talking about what happened,” Alexandra retorted. “I’m assuming it has something to do with that gash on your cheek, but I still need you to fill out the blanks for me.” 

“Gash?” I repeated and brought a hand up to my cheek. Alexandra was right. There was a small cut on my cheek. My mother’s ring must have caught my skin. 

“It looks rather unpleasant. Give me a moment,” Alexandra said and disappeared upstairs. 

I sipped my coffee and wondered what she was doing. 

A moment later I got the answer when Alexandra came back with some cotton buds and a bottle of something. 

“This may sting a bit,” Alexandra warned as she poured a few drops from the bottle on to the cotton bud. 

“You really don’t have to....” 

“You wouldn’t want it to get infected,” Alexandra said plainly. “Now hold still please.” 

I tried my best to follow her request, but whatever she was dabbing onto my cheek actually stung quite a bit. 

And suddenly it reminded me of when she had dabbed all of her makeup products on to my skin to hide the hickey, she had given me on the first night I had spent with her. 

I squirmed a little bit. 

“My apologies. I’m almost done,” Alexandra murmured. 

“It’s fine.” I had absolutely no problem with having her this close. I could smell her shampoo and intoxicating perfume. Having her standing looming over me like this was absolutely fine. 

But much too soon, she removed the cotton bud from my cheek and took a step back as to admire her work. “There. All done.” 

“Thanks,” I said quietly. 

“Who gave you that gash?” she asked, and I knew I couldn’t avoid giving her some answers. 

“My mother.” I answered quietly. “We had an argument. A bad one.” 

“Your mother.” Alexandra repeated dully, and I saw her ice blue eyes flash dangerously. 

“Yeah. I knew she wasn’t gonna be thrilled when I told her that I’m not planning on going to Harvard, but I hadn’t exactly expected her to get physical,” I said and tried to joke a little. 

“That’s not even remotely funny, miss Welles.” Alexandra said. She was definitely not amused. 

“No, I guess it isn’t.” 

“Have she ever hit you before?” Alexandra asked plainly.

“No. God, no. I think she was as surprised as I was.” 

“That is no excuse.” 

“No, it isn’t.” I agreed. “I’m really sorry for dumping all this on you and waking you in the middle of the...” 

“I wasn’t asleep,” Alexandra interrupted. “I was listening to music,” she nodded towards the record player in the corner.

“Why do you listen to music in the middle of the night?” I asked, eager to turn the conversation elsewhere. 

“I often do that,” Alexandra shrugged. “I find it soothing.”

“I interrupted you,” I realized. 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

But I actually felt bad with having interrupted her. “Please don’t stop on my account,” I said. 

“You want me to keep listening to music even though it’s the middle of the night and I’m no longer alone?” Alexandra half-joked. 

I nodded. She wasn’t the only one who found music soothing. No matter what time it was.

She chuckled. “You have some strange requests, miss Welles.” As she spoke, she went over to the record player, fiddled with something for a moment, and then I heard the vaguely familiar “Smoke Gets in   
Your Eyes.” I closed my eyes. This was more soothing than I had imagined. After a while, she fiddled with the record player once more, and then another sound floated out in the houseboat:

 

“They say into your early life romance came,  
And in this heart of yours burned a flame,  
A flame that flickered one day and died away.  
Then, with disillusion deep in your eyes,  
You learned that fools in love soon grow wise,  
The years have changed you, somehow.  
I see you now,  
Smoking, drinking, never thinking of tomorrow, nonchalant,  
Diamonds shining, dancing, dining with some man in a restaurant.  
Is that all you really want?  
No, sophisticated lady,  
I know, you miss the love you lost long ago,  
And when nobody is nigh you cry.” 

 

I listened as the voice faded and the melody took over and slipped into a jazzy interlude. 

“Who’s singing?” I asked. 

“Ella Fitzgerald,” Alexandra answered. 

“Oh.” I nodded. “That’s a, uh.... pretty sad song.” 

“Yes, I suppose it is,” Alexandra acknowledged. “But I also happen to find it quite good.” 

I nodded again. Is she singing about you? I suddenly felt tempted to ask. That song could just as well have been written for Alexandra. There was an unspoken melancholia about her. 

“Smoking, drinking, never thinking of tomorrow, nonchalant,  
Diamonds shining, dancing, dining with some man in a restaurant.  
Is that all you really want?  
No, sophisticated lady,  
I know, you miss the love you lost long ago,  
And when nobody is nigh you cry.” 

 

The song ended, but this time, Alexandra didn’t put on another LP. She simply let this one play as she sat down on the red velvet couch, adjusting her robe slightly. 

I listened as the new song started playing.

 

“When the only sound in the empty street,  
Is the heavy tread of the heavy feet  
That belong to a lonesome cop  
I open shop.  
When the moon so long has been gazing down  
On the wayward ways of this wayward town.  
That her smile becomes a smirk,  
I go to wo-“.

 

The music was rudely cut off when Alexandra, who had suddenly risen from the couch, abruptly lifted the record player needle with a little scoff. 

“Love For Sale.” I actually knew that one. And I didn’t need to guess the reason why Alexandra didn’t want to hear that particular song.   
A new song started playing.

“I've got you under my skin.  
I've got you deep in the heart of me.  
So deep in my heart that you're really a part of me.  
I've got you under my skin.  
I'd tried so not to give in.  
I said to myself: this affair never will go so well.  
But why should I try to resist when, baby, I know so well  
I've got you under my skin?

I'd sacrifice anything come what might  
For the sake of havin' you near  
In spite of a warnin' voice that comes in the night  
And repeats, repeats in my ear:  
Don't you know, little fool, you never can win?  
Use your mentality, wake up to reality.  
But each time that I do just the thought of you  
Makes me stop before I begin  
'Cause I've got you under my skin.”

 

I’ve got you under my skin. I cringed. I should never have asked Alexandra to keep listening to music. This song was a little too.... Telltale. Damn it. I shifted a little on my seat and then I rose from the chair and shuffled over to the wall where all the million black plastic bags were lined up, and I wondered why she suddenly had decided to have a clean-out that was this serious. To me, it looked like she was throwing out half of her belongings.   
And quite a few books too it would seem. As a book lover, that sight really hurt my eyes. Why would anyone throw so many books out? 

As I took a closer look at the bags, I spotted one book lying on the floor. It must have fallen out of one of the bags. 

I bent down slightly to pick it up. Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy. I knew it by name, but I had never actually read it. As I flipped the book around to take a look at the description written on the back, a little   
note fell out of it. I bent down again to pick the note up, and reading it was simply unavoidable: 

“Dearest Sandrine,   
Happy birthday. I wish you a lifetime of happiness.

Love,  
Grandpapa.”

A short, yet sweet greeting. I frowned a little. Sandrine. That didn’t make much sense. 

“Greta Alexandrine Adams.” 

My back stiffened in surprise. I hadn’t notice that she had snuck up behind me. Nor that the music had in fact stopped.

“My grandfather was the only one who ever called me “Sandrine”,” Alexandra said as she took the note from me. “Sometimes he even called me Alex. He was a bold man.” 

Alex. I chuckled. I found that hard to imagine. A teenaged Alexandra who put up with being called Alex. 

“Alex.” I repeated as to taste the name. 

“Don’t start,” Alexandra warned darkly. 

“Alexandrine,” I amended. “That doesn’t sound very American.” 

“It’s French,” Alexandra said. 

Of course. I had sort of already figured that out. Alexandrine. Now I knew where she had gotten the name “Alexandra” from. 

“Your parents loved France or something?” I guessed. 

“I’ve never had a relationship with my parents.” 

I grimaced. “Oh shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t think-“ 

“Don’t worry,” Alexandra shrugged. “I was raised by my grandfather. And he was the kindest man in the world.” 

I wanted to know why she was raised by her grandfather. I wanted to know why she never had a relationship with her parents. But the “no strings attached” rule forbade me to ask. 

“Now, I think it would be better if you got some sleep,” Alexandra said. The implication was clear; the show and tell was over. 

And it was actually getting very late. 

“I’ll find you some stuff,” Alexandra said as she went upstairs. 

I didn’t know what that meant, but a moment later she returned with a pillow and a duvet she lied on the red velvet couch. 

Disappointment gnawed in my stomach. Why couldn’t I just sleep next to her? 

But of course, I already knew the answer to that. This wasn’t a hotel. This was her home. There were different rules here. 

“Sleep well,” Alexandra said a bit reservedly. 

I didn’t know where I got the sudden boost of courage. Maybe my brain was going into overdrive because I was tired or something like that, but either way, I leaned forward and brushed my lips lightly   
over her cheek as I murmured: “Thank you.” 

Alexandra scowled slightly but she didn’t say anything else about the gesture. She simply spun around on her heels and, as she was about to ascend the stairs: “There’s an extra toothbrush in the   
bathroom cabinet. Don’t go poking around.” 

I nodded. 

With that she was gone, and a moment later I heard the door to her bedroom open and then close. The floorboards creaked for a moment, and then complete silence. 

I took off my booths and shimmied out of my black jeans. Then I reached underneath my shirt and unclasped my bra. Wearing only my grey t-shirt I padded upstairs and into the bathroom where I quickly brushed my teeth. 

I hesitated on my way downstairs. For a moment I paused at the door to Alexandra’s bedroom. Was I brave enough to knock on the door and ask to sleep in her bed with her? 

My hand lingered on the doorknob. Or did I want to do more than just sleep? Was I in fact hoping that she would touch me like she had touched me during our stays at various hotels? 

My stomach did somersaults at that thought, but something held me back. This is different, I told myself. This wasn’t a room on a hotel. She wasn’t... God, should I even be calling her Alexandra in her   
own home? Was she Alexandra here? Or was she simply Greta? 

I abandoned ship and removed my hand from the doorknob. Instead of making a fool out of myself, I went back downstairs and curled up on the couch, under the duvet Ale- Greta had lied out for me. 

 

The next day, I woke up to hectic activity. After switching my phone back on (and ignoring the thirty two missed calls from my mother) I realized that it was ten thirty. I had slept for very long. 

The activity that had roused me from my sleep was Alexandra- this time I was certain it was Alexandra- walking around on her high heels. She was wearing a red dress that ended a good inch above her knee, but still looked classy and sophisticated. 

“There’s plenty of food in the fridge. I think there might even be a bit of bacon left,” Alexandra said as she slipped a beige trench coat over her dress. I hadn’t seen that coat before. 

“Are you leaving?” I asked dumbly and wiped the sleep from my eyes. 

“Yes. I have an appointment with a client,” she said smoothly. 

A client. I felt a lick of jealousy. 

“And you need to find out what you’re gonna do.” She continued. 

“You don’t want me here,” I guessed. 

“I don’t want to complicate things,” Alexandra said plainly as she placed a red pillbox hat on her soft curls. 

Right. The Rules. 

“I’ll be back in a few hours,” she informed me. 

“And what, you want me gone by then?” 

“No. But I do want you dressed and out of bed,” she said and there was a hint of amusement in her voice. 

I scoffed. I couldn’t keep up with her fluctuating mood. 

“I’m gonna leave a key in the plant pot by the door. That way you won’t end up locked out if you need to go anywhere,” Alexandra said. 

“I wasn’t planning on going anywhere,” I muttered. 

“Very well then. See you later. Don’t go poking around while I’m gone.” 

With that she walked out of the door. A second later I saw her enter the Mercedes and drive away. 

Home alone then. I didn’t really know what to think of that. Being here without Alexandra seemed pointless, but on the other hand, I couldn’t think when she was around, and she was right. I had to find   
out what I was gonna do. I hadn’t thought this through at all when I left my house. 

Going home was out of the question. Not in a million years was I gonna go back to my house and my mother. That was a done deal. 

But what then? I knew what I wanted. I wanted to stay here. On Alexandra’s couch. That was what I really wanted. I wanted to stay here and not leave. Ever. 

But of course that was out of the question. 

I sighed as I tumbled out of bed and stumbled upstairs. I hoped Alexandra didn’t mind if I “borrowed” her shower. 

The shower left me a little cleaner but not with a whole lot of clarity. I still had no idea what the hell I was gonna do. 

But first things first. I wandered back downstairs and slipped into my jeans and t-shirt. Then I found my phone. My mother wasn’t the only one who had called consistently. Michelle had too, and I quickly   
dialed her number. 

To my utter surprise, her answer came after the first dialing tone: “Celine?” 

“Hey, Michelle.” 

“Are you okay?!” Michelle asked, and her next question came immediately after the first: “Your mom has been calling me nonstop since midnight last night, what the hell is going on?!” 

“Have you talked to her then?” I asked. 

“Yeah, she basically just wanted to know whether you were with me or not. When I told her I hadn’t seen you since we said goodbye to Hannah, she completely lost it! What the fuck is happening, Celine?!” 

“I left the house last night and I’m not planning on coming back,” I said plainly. 

“What? What happened?!” 

“She slapped me.” I told Michelle, and I could feel the anger bubbling beneath the surface. Good. Anger was definitely better than being upset over it. 

There was a moment of silence and then Michelle said: “Come again?” 

“We had this massive argument about Harvard. I.... I finally told her the truth, Michelle. I told her that I’m not gonna plan on applying for Harvard.” 

“No way,” Michelle said. “You did?”

“Mhmm. Well, anyway, she didn’t take that very well. We said some pretty nasty things to each other, and... she slapped me.” I said and tried to brush it off. 

Michelle expressed her feelings by cursing. Loudly. 

“So, I left and I’m not planning on going back,” I continued. “I’m done. I’ve reached my limit.” 

“Yeah, I would have too,” Michelle loudly agreed. “But where the hell have you been all night? Please don’t tell me you slept rough.” 

“No, I, uh...” I swallowed something and tried to be totally casual as I continued: “I slept at Greta’s.” 

“At Greta’s?” Michelle repeated. 

“Mhmm. She was sort of the only one who answered the phone.”

Michelle cursed again. “I never should have gone out with Steve last night. I should have stayed over at your house instead.” 

“I don’t think that could have changed anything, Michelle. The argument was gonna happen soon or later anyway. It didn’t exactly come out of nowhere.” 

“I know, I know, but...” 

I interrupted her. “Can I stay at your place? Just until things calm down a little, I mean.” 

“Crap.” Michelle said. 

“What is it?” 

 

“My mom has gotten the idea that I shouldn’t “hang out with anyone until the finals are completely done”...” 

“Oh.” I said. So, I couldn’t stay at Michelle’s. And Hannah would most likely be buried in books by the time she got home. Shit. 

“I can totally ask her to chill,” Michelle said. 

“Michelle, no. I get it. Trust me. I do. I was raised by Maura Welles, remember? I’ll be fine. And I really don’t want your mom involved in this. I don’t want to cause any trouble for her. Or you.” 

“But what are you gonna do?” Michelle asked. “Where are you gonna stay?” 

“I’ll think of something.” I said vaguely. But I wasn’t quite sure what that something was yet. 

“I’ll ask her to chill.” Michelle said firmly. 

“Don’t you dare!” I exclaimed. “You are not asking her to do anything because of me, do you understand? Don’t worry. I’ll figure something out.” 

“That doesn’t really sound very convincing, Celine.” 

“I will,” I assured her. 

It took a while to convince her, but eventually she caved in and promised me not to cancel her plans. 

“Listen, I gotta have some breakfast, okay? But I’ll text you later.” 

“You better.” Michelle said. 

“I will. I promise.” 

“Okay. Bye. Take care of yourself. And tell me if you need me to kick your mom’s ass.” 

I chuckled. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary, but thanks.” 

We ended the call and I once again promised her that I would be fine. 

But I felt a little despondently as I looked around in Greta’s kitchen. Now what? Staying at Michelle’s was out of the question. Staying at Hannah’s was out of the question. 

Going home was definitely out of the question. 

What options did I have left? 

I literally left the house with only the clothes on my back and my phone. I left everything behind. Money. Clothes. My books and laptop that held all my notes for the last test. Everything. 

How many people actually think before they run off? I wondered as I opened Greta’s fridge and found toast and jam. That would have to do for right now. 

The wheels in my head were still turning as I finished breakfast, but I still came up empty. Greta was literally the last and only option I had. Otherwise I would have to find a women’s shelter. And that sounded a bit extreme, even to me. 

But going home... 

No. I couldn’t do that. I refused to do that. 

I snorted. Maybe I should let myself enroll at Harvard. At least I would have somewhere to live if I did that. 

But I knew that wasn’t gonna work either. I couldn’t just choose something to get away from my mother. 

This absolutely sucked. I was suddenly homeless. And very homeless too. 

I carefully rinsed my plate and cup in the sink, wiped both things clean and then put it back where I had found it. I didn’t want to make a mess. 

Once that was done, I padded back upstairs to brush my teeth. I could feel the crumbs in my teeth. Very uncomfortable. 

Thank god for Greta’s extra toothbrush, I thought to myself as I brushed my teeth thoroughly. 

I was walking back down the hallway when something peaked my curiosity. The door to Greta’s bedroom was slightly ajar. I paused mid-step, and like last night I lingered with a hand on the doorknob. 

Greta’s warning echoed in my head. Don’t go poking around while I’m gone. 

I had never been very good at listening to warnings. I couldn’t help myself. I pushed the door to her bedroom open and stepped over the threshold. 

The first thing that struck me about Greta’s bedroom was how different it was from what I had expected. I had pictured something minimalistic and white, like the hotel rooms we had been staying in. 

But this room was dark. The furniture’s in here were held strictly in dark wood. The heavy bookcases were of wood so deep a brown they were almost black. And the same thing counted for the heavy   
vanity table and chair by the mirror. 

But it was the walls that surprised me the most. They were... Well, red. There was probably some fancy name for it like scarlet or apple, but to me the walls were good old fashioned red. A bold choice. But   
then again maybe it hadn’t been her choice. Maybe the walls were like this when she moved in, who knew. 

The heavy book cases were filled to the brim with books. Most of them classics. Obviously. How could someone have a clean-out like the one she had and still have so many books left? 

But the real “eye grabber” in here was definitely the bed. I thought I had seen my share of big beds each time I had stepped into a new hotel room, but this definitely took the cake. This wasn’t just a big bed. It was a freaking enormous bed. 

A four poster canopy bed in dark wood. The bedding was black, the pillows that were placed with laser sharp perfection were black, and the microscopic piece of the sheet I could see peeking out under the bedding was black. But the impressive canopy hanging above the bed was red, in the same shade as the walls. 

“Holy crap,” I muttered. This room definitely gave me certain “vibes”.

The vanity table was packed with different sort of products, and I briefly wondered how long her makeup routine took.   
In the corner by the window, near one of the bookshelves, there was a massive desk. It looked vintage and were in some sort of polished, dark wood. On top of the desk, there was a laptop standing screen open. And I almost chuckled because the modern item looked so wrong in here. 

My only intention had been to take a closer look at her books, but I ended up actually bumping into the desk. The laptop came alive with a soft “vrr”. 

I cursed quietly. I couldn’t leave it like that. Otherwise she would know that I had been “poking around” in her bedroom, and she probably wouldn’t like that. 

But instead of trying to shut the laptop off, I ended up staring at the screen. Greta had been in a hurry when she left this morning. She hadn’t gotten the chance to close the browser, and now I was left staring at what could only be her website. Her professional website. 

I had never given it much thought how Greta- no, how Alexandra found her “clients”, and now I felt a bit stupid. Of course she had a website. How else would she get in touch with people?

I felt an odd mixture of curiosity, jealousy, nausea and arousal as I shuffled closer and stared at the screen. The website was incredibly professional and the language flawless as she described herself to her potential clients, informed them that she was fluent in French and German. She preferred French cuisine. Literally, everything about her was written down. Her height, her weight, hair color, eye color,   
cup size. I swallowed something. Her educational background. Whether she was smoking or drinking. Whether she had any tattoos or piercings. Her hobbies. What sort of music she preferred. What sort of clothes she usually wore. Her favorite perfume (“Black Opium”). Her favorite lingerie brand. 

My mouth felt dryer by the second, and my cheeks were the same shade as her walls. But still I scrolled down. I didn’t know why. I had no business poking around like this. And I certainly had no business knowing what she could offer her clients. 

Dinner dates. Companionship only. Girlfriend experience. Escort for couples. 

Wait, what? Escort for couples?! You could have fried an egg on my cheeks. 

Lingerie experience. 

The flush crept down my neck now. Okay, I have definitely seen enough. I didn’t want to know anymore. 

But the only thing I accomplished as I manically tried to click away from the page was being redirected to a photo gallery. 

I hissed as I inhaled sharply and shallowly. My eyes roamed over the screen as I took in the many images of Alexandra. She was dressed in every single one of them, but it was still the most erotic pictures 

I had seen in my life, and I was mesmerized as I stared at the many pictures of Alexandra in various nightgowns. Alexandra draped in some sort of lace material. One shoulder was left bare, but that was   
all. I imagined kissing that shoulder. There wasn’t a single one of them where she revealed what was underneath those nightgowns. There was especially one of the pictures that really caught my   
attention. She was in a bed, holding up a sheet to just under her eyes, and those eyes gleamed with mischief. Her eyes and hair was the only thing visible in the picture, and I couldn’t help but stare. She could easily be a model. Every picture was tasteful and exquisite. Art. Just the look she gave the camera was enough to make me acutely aware of what was happening in my abdomen.

I had to get out of her bedroom right now. I slammed my finger down on the “exit” button and fled the scene. 

 

******

 

But the photos kept rummaging in my mind. I kept thinking of what I had seen on the computer screen. Desire was swirling in my belly and mixed with the irrational jealousy as I thought of Alexandra and what she was doing right now. 

The idea that she was out with someone that wasn’t me... That she was offering herself to someone else. 

The warm desire in my belly turned cold. Of all the things she could have been, why did she have to be this?

And why did she have to fluctuate so much and first accept how I had kissed her cheek, and then act all disinterested afterwards? 

And why was it that I had such trouble with obeying the rules? No strings attached. No illusions. Being jealous of her clients wasn’t a part of our deal. 

And neither were feelings. I knew that. 

I was stupid. And young and impressionable. 

And very much on the brink of falling for a woman I could never be with. 

I both looked forward and dreaded the moment Alexandra was coming home. I was paranoid enough to believe that she somehow could see it in my face.


	29. Chapter Twenty Nine

I felt tense for the next few hours. 

Being confronted with those pictures had both made me aroused and jealous. 

And I definitely wasn’t allowed to be jealous. 

But was I allowed to be aroused? Alexandra hadn’t seemed very interested in me. She had seemed uncomfortable with having me in her home. She didn’t want to “complicate things”. Whatever that meant. 

But the way I saw it, things were already complicated. I was a self-proclaimed homeless, currently “living” on Alexandra’s couch without any money or clothes. 

Everything was already going to hell. Why not complicate things a little more? I had reached a point where I didn’t give a shit about blurred lines. 

If Alexandra and I could do what we did at different hotels, why couldn’t we do it here too? I knew she “never brought her clients to her home”, but I was not her client, damnit. I had never once paid to get her attention. She had just given it to me. I still didn’t know completely why. I didn’t understand what a woman like her wanted with someone like me. 

So far, there hadn’t been much in our “meetings” for her. She had paid for the hotel rooms. She had paid for the dinners. And as for the sex.... Well, she had been in charge of that too. 

To me, that didn’t seem like a very fair “no strings attached”-agreement. There had to be something in it for both parties, right? 

And now I was living on her couch. She had driven out in the middle of the night and “rescued” me. 

It was definitely time to give something back. I wanted nothing more than to express my gratitude to her. 

Or maybe I just wanted her. I wanted to bring her the same kind of pleasure she had brought me. I wanted to set her world alight. 

And that both surprised and embarrassed me. I was surprised because I had never felt so attracted to anyone before. And I was embarrassed because this made me feel like a horny teenager. 

But I am a horny teenager, an annoying little voice reminded me. 

I scoffed quietly. The hormones raging in my body were about three years too late. 

My phone chimed, and I quickly answered the newly arrived text from Hannah. I had told her what happened between me and my mother. Whether Hannah was getting a tour at a university or not, she still   
wanted to be “updated” on big or small events, I knew that. 

And like Michelle, she had been horrified and very steadfast in her belief. This couldn’t be blamed on me. My mother was the one who was barging up the wrong street. Then she had asked me where I was living, and I told her that I was currently staying at Greta’s. Hannah had expressed her surprise over that development, but I had just brushed it off. 

I felt a little bad with brushing it off and lying to my friends, but telling Hannah and Michelle probably wasn’t a part of the “no strings attached”-deal. Hannah already knew too much about Greta. 

The sound of a key being inserted in the door made me look up from the phone. My heart immediately started hammering with a million kilometers per hour. I knew feeling nervous was ridiculous, given what had happened (several times) between me and Alexandra, but I couldn’t help it. I suddenly envisioned her being angry that I was still here. 

Then door was opened, and a second later I heard the clacking sound of Alexandra’s high heels as she came into the small hallway. 

Clack, clack, clack, onwards into the living room. 

“Hi,” I said a bit lamely. 

“Céline,” she acknowledged with a slight burr. “How was your afternoon?” 

“Uh... Pretty good.” I was almost about to ask her the same, but I was smart enough to stop myself before things got really awkward. 

“Be a dear and scoot over,” she said. 

I immediately made myself smaller on the couch, eager to occupy as little space as possible. 

Alexandra sat down next to me. She reached down and the next moment, she had slipped off her high heels off and wiggled her stocking clad feet slightly. A low groan escaped her as she rolled her   
shoulders and then tipped her head back against the couch, closing her eyes. 

She very much looked like anyone who just had a long day at work, and I almost wanted to grind my teeth. 

“Did you have some breakfast?” she asked. Her eyes were still closed.

“Yeah.” 

“And lunch?” 

“That too.”

“And have you been a good girl while I was gone?” 

“Wha-what?” my cheeks heated up for the millionth time that day. 

Alexandra laughed throatily. “I was just kidding, miss Welles. No need to sound so panicked.” 

“Oh. Right.” 

“I’m sure your behavior has been impeccable,” she drawled as she removed the red hat and shook her chestnut curls a few times. 

I muttered a halfhearted answer to that. 

“Have you figured anything out?” Alexandra asked plainly. 

“I’ve tried,” I said and grimaced slightly. “But I’m running a bit low on options. I don’t really know where to....” I didn’t finish the sentence. I suddenly felt overwhelmed by the entire situation. 

Alexandra raised an eyebrow. 

“Hannah is getting a tour at a university with her parents, and afterwards, I think she’s gonna get lost in study land.” I continued. “And Michelle has sort of... been forbidden to have company while she’s   
studying.” 

“For how long?” 

“The final test is in a week, so....” 

“Zut alors,” Alexandra said and shook her head again. 

I had no idea what that meant, but the tone was enough to tell me that she was expressing her dissatisfaction with this arrangement. 

“Are you gonna kick me out?” I asked quietly. 

“And leave you to sleep on the buss benches? Non, miss Welles. I’m not gonna kick you out,” Alexandra answered. “But this is less than ideal.” 

“Why not?” I dared asking. 

“Because I normally don’t invite the people I sleep with into my home.” She said plainly. 

I cringed a little. 

“But then again the people I normally sleep with aren’t eighteen and runaways,” Alexandra continued musingly, more to herself than to me. 

“I’m officially a rebel,” I muttered quietly. 

A raspy little sound that could almost have been a chuckle escaped Alexandra, but there weren’t any signs of amusement when she said: “You can stay here until your friends are available.” 

“Thank you.” 

“But you’ll have to get some clothes. And whatever else you might need while you stay here.” 

“Right. I’m gonna need my laptop,” I muttered. “Otherwise I can’t study for the final test.” 

“And the rules haven’t changed,” Alexandra said. “This is no different from our hotel stays.” 

“But it is,” I muttered. 

“I beg your pardon?” 

“You haven’t...” I flushed. How could I find the right words to tell her that I wanted her to touch me again? 

“I haven’t what? Alexandra challenged. 

I looked down at my hands as I continued: “This morning you acted like you didn’t really want me here.” 

“That still doesn’t explain what it is I haven’t done,” Alexandra replied. “And clearly, it’s something you want quite badly.” 

“I want you to kiss me,” I muttered. 

“I can’t hear you.” 

My head snapped up as I looked at her. She couldn’t be serious. 

“You really must speak up, miss Welles.” Alexandra drawled and outstretched her hand. A second later, she was lazily playing with my hair. Another mood swing.

“I want you to kiss me,” I almost snipped. 

“And maybe I will. If you ask nicely,” Alexandra said. “I don’t take orders, miss Welles.” 

“Please?” I whispered. 

“Please what?”

Was she taunting or was she serious? I didn’t know. And right now I didn’t really care either. My cheeks were burning as I whispered: 

“Please kiss me.” 

Within seconds Alexandra had leaned forward and slotted our lips together in a kiss and my hand slid up to rest on her cheek. The tip of her tongue brushed against my lower lip, and my stomach tingled   
in response. But this wasn’t enough. I wanted her closer. I needed her closer. So I removed my hand from her cheek and cupped the back of her neck in an attempt to get her closer. 

“So eager,” Alexandra teased as she drew her head back. 

I didn’t answer. Instead I leaned forward to kiss her again. But suddenly Alexandra grabbed me and pulled me onto her lap. My cheeks flushed again. 

“Is this what you wanted?” she drawled as she wrapped a lock of my hair around her finger. 

Yes, this was very much what I wanted. I wiggled slightly on her lap to get comfortable, and then I leaned forward again. And this time she didn’t pull away from me. Instead her fingers skated up and   
down my back as we kissed. This was the closest she had ever allowed me to come to her, and I reveled in it. Her perfume tickled my nostrils and made me slightly dizzy. Everything about her called out to   
me. Moth to flame. I was burning very willingly. 

She nibbled lightly at my bottom lip and I released a quiet moan. She tasted so good. Sweet and spicy and wonderful.

Her hands were on my back. I could feel the warmth from her palms through my t-shirt and my fingers sought up and found home in her soft curls. 

I couldn’t breathe. Alexandra was stealing the air from my lungs. My heart was hammering away in my chest, and as I adjusted on her lap, I could hear the fast thump-thump of her heart. She wasn’t   
unaffected. That made me happy and I freed one hand from her hair, let it slide down and rest over her heart. 

But she didn’t like that. I didn’t know whether placing my hand over her heart categorized as breaking the rules, but she quickly caught my hand and placed it on her shoulder instead. 

Okay then. Message received and understood. From now on I would refrain from getting anywhere near her heart. 

Suddenly, her hands were in my hair, and as opposed to me, she was actually tugging a bit on my hair as she made me come closer. And for whatever reason, I didn’t mind it. I liked it. I liked having my   
hair pulled. I didn’t know that, and I didn’t know how she knew. 

And suddenly, I became aware that my lungs were burning. I needed air. Right now. But I also wanted to keep kissing her. Why couldn’t I have both? Why couldn’t she be my oxygen? 

Alexandra chuckled as she released my lips with a soft pop. I wheezed slightly. That only seemed to amuse her further and she was straight up grinning as I tried to catch my breath. 

“I’m not sure you can handle it, miss Welles,” she drawled as her warm hand landed on my back again. But her voice was breathless too. 

“Give me a chance,” I muttered. 

“I am giving you a chance. A chance to breathe,” she teased. 

“Very funny.” I was just about to point out that she sounded breathless too, but instead of presenting my fine allegation, I squeaked in surprise when her hand skated further down and gave my rear a   
half-hard squeeze. 

Seriously? But for various reasons, I liked that too. 

“Now move,” Alexandra said. 

“Do I have too?” 

“Yes, ma bichette. You have too.” Alexandra said as she elegantly shoved my leg away and freed herself from my grasp. 

“What does that mean?” I asked. 

Alexandra just smiled and avoided the question by presenting me with a new one: “Where do you want to eat tonight?”

“Are we going out?” I asked and raised an eyebrow. 

“If that’s what you want,” Alexandra replied. “But we can also stay here if you prefer.” 

I only needed a moment to consider it. All the hotel dinners had been nice, but there had been other people present, and what I really wanted was to be alone with Alexandra. 

“I think I’d like to stay here,” I said a bit coyly, and as to make up for that I added: “Can you cook?” 

“Can you?” Alexandra retorted without batting an eye. 

I shrugged. “I make a mean spaghetti with ketchup. And my macaroni and cheese are pretty good too.” 

“Macaroni and cheese? Ketchup?” Alexandra looked as me as I rose from the couch. “Your body certainly doesn’t look like its being fed that kind of food.” 

My cheeks flushed again. I still remembered my mother’s many comments about my body, and now Alexandra was standing here and telling me the complete opposite. 

“Do you not like your body, ma jolie?” Alexandra asked and put a finger under my chin to tilt my face up. 

I shrugged and tried to avoid the question by asking: “And what does that mean?” 

Alexandra ignored that. “I don’t know what else you have been told, but there is absolutely nothing wrong with your body.”

I opened my mouth to answer that statement, but Alexandra had already stalked away from me and was opening the fridge. “I think I’ll make baked salmon tonight. Do you like salmon, miss Welles?” 

“I, uhh... Yeah.” I said. The way she so swiftly changed the subject made me dizzy. 

“Excellent. I’ll start making dinner then. And afterwards we have some practical things to discuss.” She said matter of factly and suddenly sounded very much like a business woman.

And those “practical things” turned out to be about my clothing situation. Once we were sitting at the table and I was scarfing down the last bits of the baked salmon she had made, Alexandra said: 

“Once we’re done eating I’ll take you home.” 

My fork landed on the plate with a clatter and I opened my mouth to protest. Had she changed her mind?!

“So you can get a chance to fetch some of your belongings. Calm down, ma bichette. I already told you, I’m not gonna kick you out.” 

My shoulders uncurled. “Yeah. Okay. I probably need some clothes and things.” 

“Yes, sleeping naked wouldn’t be optimal. Not in the long run anyway,” Alexandra said smoothly and chuckled when I spluttered slightly into my water. 

So, after we had finished dinner, I climbed into Alexandra’s Mercedes. I felt a ridiculous twinge of panic when we drove away from all the little floating homes, and I took a deep breath as I reminded   
myself that I was gonna come back. I wasn’t going back home. I was going back to the houseboat with Alexandra. 

“Deep breaths,” Alexandra said calmly. She removed one hand from the wheel and took mine exactly like she had done in the elevator so many months ago. 

And normally, I would have panicked at seeing anyone take their hands off the wheel, but Alexandra’s hand in mine made me feel completely calm and my breath slowly evened out. 

“That’s it, ma bichette.” Alexandra praised. 

I shrugged. “You make me feel calm,” I said truthfully. 

Of course, she didn’t like hearing me say that. Her perfect eyebrows arched as she scowled at me. 

“You do.” I said plainly. 

“Strange. You seemed less than calm during our hotel stays.” Alexandra retorted matter of factly. 

I silently agreed with her. She had a point there. 

And despite my little “confession”, she hadn’t moved her hand. Our fingers were still entwined, and I tightened my grip on her soft fingers a little. 

 

We drove down Mercer Street, and I noted that my bike was standing the exact same place. So it hadn’t been stolen. Good. I would have to think of some sort of arrangement to have it removed from the   
street. 

Soon we reached my street and I got a sinking feeling low in my belly when we pulled up in front of my house. It was like I was finally acknowledging how ugly the thing that had happened between me and my mother really had been. It hadn’t just been a minor thing that would solve itself. 

I wasn’t sure what kind of relationship my mother and I would have in the future. I wasn’t even sure we would have a relationship at all. I knew that old saying about people changing and bla, bla, bla, but change didn’t happen overnight. It was something that came gradually, and the relationship between me and my mother had been toxic for a long time. 

I should have left a long time ago, I acknowledged. I should have left before things got all crazy. 

“I don’t think anyone is home,” Alexandra said. 

“I think you’re right.” the house looked pretty dark. Maybe my mother was working late. That would be totally up her street. Working her way out of the crisis. 

Suddenly, Alexandra unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the car door. 

“Wait, what are you doing?” I asked as I fumblingly unbuckled my own seatbelt and staggered after her. 

“I’m going with you,” Alexandra said nonchalantly. 

“You don’t have to.” 

“I’ve already been in your home once. I doubt a second time will do any harm. Come on, miss Welles.” 

I had no choice but to follow her as she strode up the pathway to our porch. I found the not-so-hidden-key under the doormat and swiftly unlocked the door. 

The house looked exactly as it had done when I left it yesterday, and yet everything had changed. Or I was seeing it differently. It didn’t feel like my home anymore. I felt no connection with the place, and 

I could almost feel it physically, how the bonds tying me to the house was snipped. 

“Is your room upstairs?” Alexandra asked and headed towards the stairs. 

“Yeah, hang on a minute!” I bellowed after her. I wasn’t sure how I felt about having Alexandra in my teenage room. Old teenage room. It would be bizarre.

But there was no stopping her. By the time I caught up with her, she was already opening the door to my room. 

I bit the inside of my cheek as I watched her look around in my old room. This was a grizzly reminder of how different we were. And a grizzly reminder of the age difference between us, and I didn’t want her to think too much of that. 

But Alexandra just looked around with mild interest without commenting on anything. Not even the lone stuffed animal sitting on my bed. 

“Just give me a second to grab some stuff,” I muttered as I reached underneath my bed and found a duffel bag. Maybe my subconscience had known that I would someday need it. 

“But of course,” Alexandra said, and the bed dipped slightly as she sat down. “You don’t mind me sitting down for a moment, do you?” 

“Nope. Knock yourself out.” 

She coughed dryly at that. 

I quickly opened the closet and started pulling out items. A bunch of t-shirts. I honestly didn’t know how long I was gonna be away for. Hell, I wasn’t even sure I was gonna come back to this house. If I   
were to come back, things would have to change. Drastically. 

And somehow, I doubted that would ever happen. I would rather squat on Michelle’s couch than coming back to live with my mother. 

Alexandra didn’t say anything as I packed my belongings. She just kept sitting on my bed with her ankles gracefully crossed. 

Okay, that was the clothes... What’s next? I opened my drawer and found my wallet with the money I had saved up from babysitting, tutoring and working at the cinema. And... As I stared at the credit card   
in my wallet, I suddenly realized that the money from my trust fund had been released when I was eighteen. So I had enough money to buy a ticket to get out of Seattle if I ever needed to. Good to know. 

Then I stuffed my laptop and phone charger into the duffel bag. 

“Do you have everything you need?” Alexandra asked. 

“Yeah, I think so. I just need....” I trailed off completely when I suddenly saw the lights from a car flash outside the window. 

“Oh dear. I do believe we’re getting company,” Alexandra commented, completely unphased. 

“It looks like it. Fuck!” 

“I’m not running down those stairs,” Alexandra said firmly. “But perhaps you want me to hide in your closet?” 

“Closet’s too small,” I halfheartedly answered her joke. 

A key was being inserted into the unlocked door, and it suddenly reminded me of one of those horror movie where the stupid heroine has forgotten to lock the door. 

The discovery of the door was already unlocked. Footsteps in the hall. Her briefcase being lied on the kitchen table, and then the stairs creaking. 

I silently counted. And in five, four, three....

The door to my room was opened and my mother stepped over the threshold. 

I turned around with my arms folded across my chest. “Mother.” I dully acknowledged. 

“Celine,” she said. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve attempted to reach you?” 

“Forty five times to be exact,” I replied. 

She ignored that. “Well, I’m very glad to see you have come to your senses. It has been noticed that you haven’t been home.” 

My anger reared its head. Incredible. After what had happened, she was still thinking of her reputation. 

“That’s not why I’m here,” I said coldly. “I’m only here to pack a few things.” 

“And if I forbid you to leave the house?” my mother said. She was already getting defensive. 

“Good luck with that,” I said sardonically. “I’m eighteen. You can’t forbid me to do anything.” 

She did what she normally did the few times I had pushed her. She switched tactic. “And may I ask who you are?” she asked Alexandra. 

“Good evening, Mrs. Welles. My name is Greta Adams. I’m a friend of your daughters,” Alexandra said smoothly. 

Greta. It suddenly felt strange to hear her use her real name and not Alexandra.

“My daughter has never mentioned you.” My mother said rudely, and I could see Alexandra’s calm and smooth façade was intimidating her. 

“That doesn’t make me any less her friend, Mrs. Welles,” Alexandra answered calmly. 

And that seemed to annoy my mother for several reasons. One: there was something I hadn’t told her. Something that had happened without her knowledge. And two: she didn’t like to be called “Mrs. Welles”. She claimed it made her feel old. She preferred being referred to as “Dr. Welles”. Probably because it oozed power and title. And Alexandra refused to give that to her. She refused to let my mother dictate the tone. 

“Do you have everything you need?” Alexandra asked, and her voice was much warmer as she spoke to me. The same was the hand she placed on my shoulder. 

“Yeah, I think so.” 

“Excellent. In that case I shall be waiting for you in the car,” she said and gave my shoulder a slight squeeze as she brushed past me. As she reached the door, she said over her shoulder: 

“Have a good evening, Mrs. Welles.” 

She had barely left the room before my mother turned to me again: 

“Who is that woman, Celine?” 

“She just told you. She’s a friend of mine.” 

“And since when do you have friends that are several years older than you?” my mother asked, and her voice rose an octave. “I don’t think I like the fact that you’re friends with-“

“Greta and I have known each other for quite a while now. I’m sorry if it escaped your notice. Now if you would excuse me...” 

But she wouldn’t. The questions kept coming: “Where are you staying?” she demanded. “I think I’m entitled to at least know that.” 

Are you? Are you really? “I’m staying at Greta’s.” 

“So I’m just supposed to accept that you’re staying with someone I’ve never heard about?”

“I know her. That should suffice.” 

“And what about graduation?” she continued. “Are we supposed to continue this foolishness there too?” 

“Foolishness?” I repeated. I couldn’t believe my own ears. “You slapped me.” 

“I apologized for doing so immediately!” 

“Yes, but your apology was followed by an excuse,” I said. As opposed to her, I was completely calm. 

“It was not...” 

“It was. You tried to explain why you did it,” I scoffed. “And there really is no excuse for it. As long as you refuse to see that, I see no reason to talk to you. And as for graduation...” I took a deep breath   
before continuing: “I actually wouldn’t bother showing up if I were you.”

“You can’t exclude me from your graduation, Celine! I’m supposed to drive you to the school, so you can take the final test! I’m your mother, for god’s sake!” 

“Yeah, so you keep saying,” I said. “But the truth is... You’ve only been my mother when you wanted too. When you wanted to make sure I was doing good in school or making sure I was seeing the right   
people... That doesn’t say much for a mother-daughter relationship, does it?” 

“I’ve given you everything!” 

“Except reassurance that I’m good enough.” 

“Is it wrong that I wanted you to do your very best?!” 

“And suppose this is the best I’ll ever do? The best I’ll ever be?” I said quietly. “I’m not you, mother. What you want for me, isn’t what I want for me. I wish you would accept that.” 

“There’s no reason to be so dramatic, Celine.” 

“Actually, there’s every reason to be this dramatic, mother. I’m leaving now. I hope you’ll think about what I’ve said.” 

With that I slung the duffel bag over my shoulder and left my mother standing muted in my bedroom. 

I felt lighter as I walked down the stairs. It felt good to know that I had said everything I wanted to say. I didn’t know what was gonna happen to me and my mother’s relationship from now on. This wasn’t   
just a question about me having to get over myself. This was about her, accepting that I wanted to do something else with my life. 

I didn’t know how long it was gonna take her to accept that, and I didn’t know how long it would take me to forgive her. But I would try. 

I had said what I wanted to say. Now it was her turn to process everything I had said. I didn’t know whether she was gonna show up to my graduation or not, and right now I didn’t really care much either. 

I opened the front door and my boots echoed as I walked down the pathway, away from my childhood home. 

Alexandra was sitting in the car, listening to some jazz number when I climbed inside the Mercedes with my duffel bag. 

“Are you ready to go?” she asked. 

“Yeah.” More than ready. 

She turned the volume down a notch but kept humming along to the unfamiliar jazz number as we drove away from my house. 

I exhaled. I actually felt surprisingly light. Maybe even.... Free. 

“Your mother is quite the character,” Alexandra suddenly commented. 

“Yeah, she sure is,” I laughed. 

Alexandra chuckled hoarsely. “Not exactly forthcoming, is she?” 

“My mother is many things, but forthcoming isn’t one of them.” 

Alexandra chuckled again, and I laughed along with her as we drove back towards her houseboat. 

 

*********************

 

This had been another eventful day. It would only make sense if I were tired. 

But I couldn’t find rest as I lied on Alexandra’s red velvet couch. I kept tossing and turning. 

Alexandra had retired to her bedroom very quickly after we had gotten back. Had muttered the quickest of goodnights and then disappeared upstairs. 

And her disappearance was the reason I couldn’t sleep. Once again, everything in me was screaming after her. My body was sighing after her. I wanted to be near her. To curl up in her arms and fall asleep like I had done it in those hotel rooms. 

I knew that her bedroom was off-limits, but once again I found the rules to be bendable. If I let her know that I knew it didn’t mean anything, it would be different, right? If I let her know that I remembered the rules, the circumstances would change, right? 

As in a trance, I rose from my couch bed and put one bare foot on the floor. Then the other one. I brushed my golden hair away from my face as I walked across the floor and ascended the stairs. The first step creaked, and I wondered whether Alexandra had heard. Maybe she was asleep. If she was, would I be bold enough to slip into her bed and let her find me come morning? 

No, probably not. I hoped she wasn’t asleep yet. That would mean I would have to go back downstairs and toss and turn as I tried to fall asleep. 

I felt a little crazy as I walked up the stairs. Like I was in some sort of trance, and Alexandra was the only one who could wake me from it. She had me wrapped around her little finger. The way we had   
kissed on the couch earlier came back to haunt me as I walked down the upstairs hallway. And those pictures, those forbidden pictures I had stumbled upon on her website when she wasn’t home popped   
up in my mind. I would have to find some sort of way to banish them permanently from my mind. 

Stopping in front of Alexandra’s bedroom door I raised my hand and curled it into a fist. Then I knocked on the door. 

I heard some scuffling around. The bed creaked. Silence. But then, after a moment I heard Alexandra’s voice through the closed door as she said: “Yes?” 

I pushed the door ajar and my eyes immediately zeroed in on the vision before them. Alexandra sitting in her bed, wearing only a thin, ebony nightgown. Her hair still looked every bit perfect, and her ice   
blue eyes seemed almost luminescent in the faint light from her nightlamp. 

“What is it, Céline?” she asked with that raspy voice that made my knees weak and my brain foggy. But tonight I wasn’t gonna let the fog win. Tonight I wasn’t gonna let it rob me of my words. Not when I   
had something on my mind. 

I swallowed something. Took a deep breath. Just ask her, Celine. Don’t be a coward. Ask her. 

“Can I come in?” I whispered.


	30. Chapter Thirty

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Alexandra said just as hushed. 

My brain didn’t really seem to accept that. My feet moved on their own accord as I took one step forward. I was almost crossing the threshold. 

“I’m not trying to bend the rules,” I said. “I just....” I sucked in a breath. “I just want to be close to you.”

Alexandra’s gaze became slightly aloof as she stared at a point above my head. 

Maybe she was considering her answer. Maybe my nightly request had taken her by surprise. But either way, she hadn’t turned me away, so I took a chance and took one more step. I had crossed the threshold. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Alexandra repeated. 

But it still wasn’t a “no” or a “leave”. The floorboards creaked as my bare feet connected with them with each step I took towards the bed and the beautiful woman sitting in it. 

“This is a mistake,” Alexandra said. 

“I don’t think it is,” I replied quietly. 

“You’ll only end up getting all sorts of ideas.” 

“I won’t. I promise.” 

“You shouldn’t be in here.” 

“Then throw me out,” I challenged, like I had done when I showed up in her room at Hotel Ballard. 

And exactly like last time, Alexandra didn’t throw me out. Instead her vague protests stopped, and her ice blue eyes finally focused on my face. 

“No illusions,” she said warningly as she held her hand out towards me. 

“No illusions,” I repeated and took her hand. 

Did I even know what I was saying? Did I even know what I once again was agreeing to? 

No. In this moment, Alexandra could talk away about deals and rules, and I wouldn’t understand a single word she said. Right now, I was prepared to agree to anything if it meant I could be near her one   
more time. 

She shuffled slightly to make room for me in her bed, and I immediately slid under the covers. I could feel the warmth from her. This was absolutely perfect. 

Alexandra sighed almost heavily as she lied down next to me. I crept closer until I was right where I wanted to be. In her arms. 

“I don’t like this,” Alexandra murmured. But her actions contradicted her words as her slender fingers brushed through my hair. 

“Me neither,” I teased lightly. 

I could almost hear her scowl as she continued: “This is going against all the rules.” 

“Ask me to leave.” I challenged.

“Would you actually do it? If I asked you to leave?” 

“Yeah. But I wouldn’t be happy about it.” I said truthfully. 

Alexandra sighed gravely. “You really are impossible, miss Welles.” 

“I know.” 

“This is just for tonight,” Alexandra said as she slid closer, spooning me.

“M’kay,” I mumbled. I was getting sleepy now. 

“What was wrong with the couch?” she asked lightly, and now she was definitely teasing a bit. 

“You weren’t there.” 

She sighed again. “What am I going to do with you, miss Welles?” 

“That’s kind of a loaded question,” I chuckled. 

“Is it indeed?” 

“Mhmm.” 

“Or perhaps your mind is just in the gutter,” Alexandra teased. 

“Perhaps. What are you gonna do about it?” I challenged. Maybe I wasn’t that sleepy anyway.

Alexandra chuckled, a deep, fruity sound in the back of her throat. “I suggest you go to sleep, miss Welles. And if you’re really lucky, I might find some sort of interesting way to wake you.” 

“Is that a promise?” 

I felt something soft on my hair, and I really wanted to turn my head and see whether my suspicion was right. Had she just dropped a kiss on my hair? 

“I don’t make promises, miss Welles. Promises are so easily broken. Now sleep.” 

She didn’t need to tell me that twice. I was already half asleep. 

 

It felt like I had only been asleep for five minutes when I was roused from my slumber by Alexandra. 

Sleepy as I was, it took me almost a minute to register what she was doing. Then my brain started working and I finally realized that she was kissing the side of my neck. 

I shivered slightly in her arms. I was lying exactly like I had fallen asleep last night. snug and secure in her arms. Her soft curls were tickling me as her lips once again connected with the soft flesh on my neck. 

“Mmm, what are you doing?” I mumbled.

“Waking you.” Alexandra said plainly. 

It was only then I remembered what she had said last night when I had already been half asleep. And then I realized something else. I had fallen asleep with her next to me a few times now, but I had never woken up with her. At least not like this. By the time I had wakened up, she had already been out of bed, but not on this particular morning. 

“Do you want me to wake you? Or was it just half asleep nonsense?” Alexandra asked into my neck. 

“Is that even a question?” I asked and rolled onto my back. 

Alexandra snickered as her hand crept up my stomach. 

“I thought you didn’t make promises,” I pointed out. 

“And did you ever hear me promise you anything last night?” Alexandra teased. 

“Touché.” 

“Now hush,” Alexandra said half seriously. 

But being quiet was impossible. Her hand was creeping up under my tanktop and I shuddered when she palmed my breast a moment later. 

“You like that,” she stated matter of factly as her smart fingers zeroed in on my hardening nipple. 

“Mhmm,” I said halfheartedly.

“Raise your arms, sweetpea.” 

I did what she asked, and a moment later Alexandra had pulled the tanktop over my head and chugged it onto the floor. 

I shuddered again. The bedroom was slightly chilled, and the effect of the cold air was obvious. My nipples were hardening rapidly. 

“I really must turn that air condition down,” Alexandra gently mocked as she brushed a finger over my nipple and squeezed my left breast slightly. 

My only response was a low groan. Desire was already blooming in my belly and sent whispers of warmth to my core. 

Her fingers zeroed in on my nipples again and she rubbed the hardened points between her fingers.

“Kiss me,” I murmured, like I had yesterday. 

Alexandra raised an eyebrow. 

“Please.” I quickly added. 

“That’s better. Good girl,” she breathed as she repositioned herself slightly. Suddenly her hands were on either side of me as she stretched out over me. Her lips found mine in what started out as a gentle   
kiss, but soon became slightly more demanding. 

I was the one who turned it demanding. I was the one who wanted more than just quick pecks. I was the one who willingly parted my lips for her. 

I could have kept kissing her forever. Or, in my mind, I would have been happy to have kissed her all morning, but in reality, kissing her wasn’t enough. I needed more. I needed to feel her hands on me. 

So I did something quite bold. I took one of her hands and guided it to my right breast. 

Alexandra chuckled into the kiss. The sound made my lips tingle slightly. 

“You want me to touch you? Is that it, ma bichette?” 

I still didn’t know what that meant, but I had just discovered that I had a thing for Alexandra speaking French in bed. 

“What else do you want me to do?” she purred into my ear as she kneaded my breast again. 

“K-kiss me.” 

“Where?” Alexandra challenged. 

“A-anywhere,” I breathed. 

“Anywhere?” Alexandra repeated and one of her perfect eyebrows rose. “My, my. Someone is feeling rather brave on this morning.” She dipped down and kissed the top of my chest. “How about here?” 

I groaned quietly in response. The muscles in my abdomen were definitely tightening by now. 

“Or maybe.... here?” Alexandra suggested innocently and kissed the spot where my neck connected with my shoulder. 

I hissed as I inhaled shakily. That was most definitely a sensitive spot. And Alexandra already knew that. Her tongue swirled over the spot and then I felt her sink her teeth into my flesh. 

I moaned again. apparently, I was particularly susceptible to biting, too. Alexandra was constantly teaching me new things about myself. 

“But of course, I could also kiss you... here,” Alexandra continued, almost nonchalant as she lowered her head to my breast and placed a featherlight kiss on my nipple. 

That made my back arch right off the bed. Maybe it was an overreaction. It had just been a kiss and nothing more, but I couldn’t help it. Everything about Alexandra made me yearn for more. 

She switched side and kissed my other nipple. I didn’t get the chance to react to that before she suddenly enveloped the hardened peak between her lips and started sucking not very gently.

“Argh! Fuck!” I breathed as my back arched. I was vaguely aware that the movement pushed my breast further into her mouth, but I wasn’t exactly in control over my body right now. 

And Alexandra didn’t seem to mind my enthusiasm at all. Still swirling her tongue over my nipple she brought her hand up and started kneading my breast. She was actually being a bit rough in her   
movements, but I didn’t mind that. It felt amazing. The only problem was that she was nowhere near where I needed her the most. My clit was throbbing, and the heat was pooling between my legs. 

But she wasn’t in a hurry. At all. Maybe she was “celebrating” that our time wasn’t limited like it had been at those hotel rooms, or maybe she just enjoyed teasing me. Either way, it was getting   
unbearable, and I whined slightly as her lips moved to the underside of my breast instead. 

“Patience,” she murmured. 

A headshake was the only response I could muster right now. 

“You don’t want to be patient?” Alexandra asked as she raised her head slightly. 

I shook my head again. 

“And why is that, ma bichette?” 

“I....”

“Yes? Speak up, miss Welles.” 

“I need you,” I groaned. 

“Is that so?” she rather bluntly shoved a hand into my underwear and cupped me. 

I gasped and squirmed at that. 

“Yes, it would appear that you do,” she stated plainly. “Well, we better do something about that, don’t we?” 

As she spoke, she ran her fingers through my folds, up towards my sensitive bundle of nerves, and down towards my entrance where the warmth pooled. 

I moaned and bit my lip. 

“Spread your legs, sweetpea,” Alexandra said. 

Struggling a bit with my heavy legs I did what she asked and spread them. 

She wiggled a little too, and my underwear was tugged down until they reached my knees and remained there because of the way I was laying. Alexandra did nothing to remove them completely, and I   
didn’t bother with kicking them off either. It didn’t matter. 

Then her mouth was dancing on my breast again. Her hand was still between my legs and I tried to remember how to breathe. 

“Is this what you want?” she teased into my breast. 

“Yes!” I half-shouted. Did she really need to ask me? 

Slender fingers entered me, and my breath completely hitched in my throat. I was definitely in no position to shout anymore. Then Alexandra’s hair tickled me as she came up and kissed me. She nibbled   
harshly on my bottom lip. It actually hurt a little, but for some reason, my brain seemed to accept the pain as pleasure. 

“Does that feel good, ma bichette?” Alexandra asked. Her fingers curled and thumped against the sensitive, soft spot inside me. 

I just moaned in response. Her ministrations had effectively robbed me of my voice. The tingles in my abdomen weren’t just tingles anymore. Every push from her fingers sent jolts of pleasure through   
my entire body, and my back arched up again to meet her fingers. 

“You look so good like this,” Alexandra murmured. 

I felt very good too. The jolts of pleasure were intensifying. Soon they would turn into that rush of pleasure and I once again felt a little sad that I wasn’t capable of holding back. The muscles in my   
abdomen tightened, and I moaned half in pleasure and half warningly. 

“Greta!”

Alexandra answered by thumping her fingers harder against the soft spot inside me and my brain turned to complete mush as my back almost levitated right of the bed and I cried out sharply as bursts   
of intense pleasure exploded in my body like fire. 

I heard Alexandra murmur something my muddled brain couldn’t quite understand, but I was incapable of answering or asking her about it now. The pleasure was still rippling through me and the only thing I could let out was a shattered little moan as every nerve in my body seemed to tingle. 

I was only vaguely aware that Alexandra slowly withdrew her fingers. She dropped one last kiss on my breast, and then a very distinct sound told me that she just had brought her fingers up to her lips. The thought of that made me groan again. 

Alexandra chuckled richly, and I suppose she had every reason to be satisfied with herself. 

I finally found myself capable of opening my eyes and look at her. She had moved, but only a little. Instead of lying on top of me, she was now lying next to me. Looking very not rattled. 

But I on the other hand......

“Wow.” I muttered. 

Alexandra chuckled again. 

“You’re very good at......”

“Waking people?” Alexandra suggested blatantly. 

“Something like that. I wish I knew some good French swear words,” I joked weakly. Sometimes “fuck” just wasn’t enough. 

“Try “putain de merde.”,” Alexandra suggested dead seriously. 

“And what does that mean?” 

“It means “holy shit.” 

I chuckled. “Yeah. I suppose that covers it nicely.” Hearing Alexandra say the word “shit” so calmly and matter of factly was a little bit hilarious. 

I kicked my underwear down the rest of the way and snuggled into her. 

“You said “Greta”.” Alexandra stated a bit matter of factly. 

“What?” I blinked. 

“The moment you came. You said Greta and not Alexandra.” 

“Oh.” I hadn’t noticed that. I hadn’t even picked up on the fact that I had blurted out the “wrong” name. 

“You didn’t know?” 

“No.”

“So it was an accident?” Alexandra asked. 

“Yeah, but...” I rolled over and raised on my elbow to look at her. “Why can’t I call you Greta?” 

She frowned. “It’s easier that way.” 

“I’m not your client,” I said quietly. 

“No, you’re not,” she reluctantly agreed. “But I don’t want things to become confusing in any way.” 

“Calling you by your real name isn’t confusing.” I said. 

“I suppose I can’t really run from Greta,” she mused. 

“And why would you want to?” I asked with a frown. 

“Maybe I prefer being Alexandra. Maybe that’s easier.” 

I wanted to know why, but the same time I opened my mouth, a phone started blaring somewhere in the bedroom. 

“Ugh!” I groaned when my morning sensitive ears protested at the loud sound. 

“That would be my alarm. The phone’s in the top drawer, do you mind finding it and giving it to me?” 

But either the sound was deafening me, or I was still rattled from Greta’s wake up call. I ended up opening the second drawer instead of the top one, and my eyes went a bit wider when my fingers   
brushed against what could only be described as a small leather crop. 

“Top drawer, miss Welles,” Greta said and scowled a little. 

“Right. Sorry.” I muttered. I quickly closed the second drawer and opened the top drawer. In there I quickly found the phone and handed it to her. 

“Thank you.” Greta said. A moment later, the screeching sound from her phone stopped. 

“Why do you have a whip in your bedside drawer?” I blurted out. 

Greta chuckled. “Sometimes I come across clients with specific requests.” 

My eyes nearly popped out of my head. “You let them whip you?” 

“No, honey,” Greta said, and her smile turned a bit more wicked. “I whip them.” 

Right. Okay. My cheeks changed color faster than a traffic light as I processed that. 

“But that was mostly back in the good old days,” Greta said as she rose from the bed and shrugged on her robe. 

I raised an eyebrow at that. “Who, uh... Who are the people who ask you to...?” 

“Mostly people in power positions who finds it difficult to relax,” Greta finished the sentence.

“And they think whipping is the best way to relax?” I said disbelievingly. 

“Yes, ma bichette. They do,” Greta cackled as she bent down and pecked my lips lightly. 

“Right then. Whatever floats their boat I guess,” I muttered vaguely. 

Greta laughed shamelessly. “You’re very sweet when you’re shocked, miss Welles. I suggest you don’t poke around in that drawer. Otherwise I might just decide to punish you.” 

“W-what?” 

“I’m kidding,” Greta said amusedly. “Now get out of bed. You probably want some breakfast, don’t you?” 

Right. Breakfast. I had forgotten that food even existed. Greta’s little wakeup call had made me forget everything. 

Maybe I was hungry. I wasn’t entirely sure right now. The disappointment over seeing her leave the bedroom blocked everything else. 

What I really wanted, was to spend a little longer in bed with her, but Greta was already gone. Which meant that I needed to get a move on too. 

I rose from bed, grabbed my tanktop and panties and shimmied into both items. Then I looked at my reflection in the big mirror on her closet. 

Doing something about my sex hair seemed like a very good idea. And taking a shower.

I left the bedroom and could almost feel the bedside drawer stare at me as I went. 

Once bathed and dressed I went downstairs. Greta had already made breakfast and was sitting by the table with a cup of tea. 

Greta’s wakeup call had made me very hungry, and I quickly shoveled some eggs and bacon onto my plate, but it didn’t take me very long to notice that Greta ate very little. A few bits of toasts and that   
was it. But what she didn’t eat, she made up for with the several cups of teas she was inhaling. 

“I don’t understand how you can survive without coffee,” I commented as I took a gulp of the cup of coffee she had made for me. 

Greta shrugged lightly. “Coffee is awfully bad for your health, miss Welles.”

I chuckled. She sounded like a teacher again. “Well, I’m pretty sure I would be a zombie without my morning coffee.” 

“You weren’t a zombie when I woke you a little while ago,” Greta drawled without taking her eyes off the cup of tea in front of her. 

“Maybe you have the same effect as coffee.” 

“Somehow I doubt that,” she said and swiftly changed the subject: “Have you thought about what you want to do after graduation?” 

“Sleep for a hundredth years?” 

“If you aspire to be the next Sleeping Beauty then be my guest, but I was actually being serious,” Greta said and scowled a bit over my cheeky reply. 

I grinned a little. She was so beautiful. Even when she was scowling. 

“I don’t really know,” I admitted. “I mean, I’m not going back to school right away, that’s for sure. At one point I was considering travelling, but maybe I’ll just stay in Seattle and write.” 

“And what are you planning on writing about?” Greta asked and leaned forward slightly. Her curls bounced slightly at the movement. 

“I...” I trailed off like I had done so many times before when I was foolish enough to look into her ice blue orbs. God, she’s beautiful. I wish I had a camera, so I could captivate the way she looks right now. 

“Yes?” Greta encouraged. 

“Maybe I’ll write about you,” I said as a test. I already was writing about her.

Her perfect eyebrow rose, and she pursed her plump lips slightly. “I don’t think that would make a very interesting story, miss Welles.” 

“Actually, I’m pretty sure it would.” 

“My life as an Escort?” Greta said sarcastically. “I think that story has already been written. Several times.” 

“You are more than an Escort,” I said and dared reaching across the table to take her hand. 

She scoffed. “Still, you wouldn’t want to write about me.” 

“Why not?” 

Greta gently tugged her hand out of my grasp. “I would make for a sad story. And I don’t have the desire to be immortalized.” 

“I thought everyone wanted to be immortalized.” 

Greta shook her head. “Leaving a mark on the world has never been of any interest to me.” 

I almost scoffed at that. Wasn’t she aware that she was in the process of leaving one hell of a mark on me? 

“Write something original,” Greta said as she emptied her teacup. “And if you would excuse me, I think I’ll go shower.” 

And there was that morning melancholia again. Greta’s fluctuating mood was beginning to confuse me slightly. One minute she was playful and smirking, and the next she spoke quietly of her   
unwillingness to leave traces in the world. 

I wasn’t dumb. I knew enough about the human mind to know when someone was depressed, and I was fairly certain that was the case with Greta. And the thought of that concerned me. I didn’t want her   
to be depressed or feel bad. I wanted to help her in any way I could, even if she didn’t want me to. 

But the problem was that I had no idea how to help her. Not really. I still didn’t know enough about her to tell the correct way of helping her. 

And I was beginning to feel a bit frustrated. Why wouldn’t she let me in? Why couldn’t she just be a little open with me? 

Because of the rules. 

Oh right, The Rules. 

I scoffed again. Well, fuck the ru......Wait, no. I couldn’t say that. I couldn’t even think that. I had promised Greta that sleeping in her bed wouldn’t change anything, and if I couldn’t keep that promise.... 

She would get angry. I knew that. Maybe she would even ask me to leave. And I couldn’t risk that. Not now when I was finally here with her. 

I sighed and rubbed a hand over my face. I was getting attached. I was definitely getting attached. I wasn’t very good at keeping my promises. 

I was still thinking about that when Greta came back downstairs. Dressed and done up in a cream colored blouse with a black camisole peeking out and a black pencil skirt. 

“What do you want to do today, ma bichette?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Do you have any, uh... plans?” 

“No,” she said lightly and didn’t flinch at my choice of words. “I happen to have the day off. So, what do you want to do?” 

I shrugged again. I could actually think of several things I wanted to do today, and none of them were very appropriate. Blood shot up in my cheeks at the thought. 

Greta chuckled, another change of her mood. “We’ll have plenty of time for that later, ma jolie.” 

“We- we will?” I asked. Just to make sure I hadn’t misheard her. 

“Oh yes,” she purred as her cold fingers cupped my cheeks. “You’re a very eager student, did you know that?” 

“I wish you never heard that teacher comment,” I muttered. 

Greta laughed. 

“Will you ever actually teach me something?” it bursted out of me, and for a moment I was shocked over having spoken my mind so openly. 

“What do you want me to teach you, miss Welles?” Greta asked as her ice blue gaze bored into my brown orbs. 

“You- you said that you would let me touch you another night,” I quietly reminded her. 

“It’s not night now, miss Welles.” Greta replied. Her fingers left my cheek and started threading through my hair instead. 

“No. But it will be,” I said dumbly. She was awfully distracting. 

“Yes. Yes, it will,” Greta agreed. “And who knows what the night will bring?” she bent down slightly and captured my lips in a light kiss. 

I instantly returned the kiss, but I also wanted to know what her cryptic remark meant. 

But of course, she didn’t give me a chance to find out. As soon as our kiss ended, she swiftly changed the subject: 

“You should start writing.” 

I blinked. “Right now?” 

“Right now,” Greta replied and chuckled as she rather suddenly placed my laptop in front of me. “Write something original. And then study for your final test.” 

“And what will you do while I write?” I inquired with a sudden twinge of panic. Maybe she was going out after all. 

Greta answered that by walking over to her many, many bookshelves. She picked a book, I caught a brief glimpse of the cover (“Lady Chatterley’s lover”) and then went over to the red velvet couch. She   
plopped down on the couch with the book in her lap and snatched a pair of glasses lying on the coffee table. 

I smiled a little. I had never seen her in glasses before, but they really suited her. The full rimmed eyeglasses only made her look even more attractive. If that was possible. 

My smile didn’t falter as I switched the laptop on and discreetly watched as she curled up on the couch with her book. She looked so relaxed like this. No sign of the previous melancholia. 

I turned my attention back to the laptop in front of me. Write something original, Greta had ordered. 

But I chose to believe that writers, real writers wrote when they felt inspired by something or someone. And not just when they wanted to be “original”. 

So instead of following her request and write something original, I opened the secret document and began writing more about the beautiful woman sitting curled up in the red velvet couch. 

The beautiful woman I was most definitely not falling for. Definitely not.


	31. Chapter Thirty One

Greta’s melancholia seemed to lift as a few hours crept by. At first, I didn’t notice her change of mood because I was completely consumed by writing. Oh, how I wrote. Once again, she completely came alive on the word document before my eyes. It was so easy to write about her. And (I tried not to think too much of it) through writing, I could really capture her. Writing about her made me feel closer to her.

I had never been quite so consumed with writing anything before, but in Greta I had really found something worth writing about. Even if she didn’t want me to. 

I had to remind myself that I couldn’t just settle for writing about her. I had to study as well. The last test was important.

But at some point, after lunch, I finally picked up on the fact that Greta had moved. She was no longer sitting in the couch with her book. Instead was standing by the record player and fiddling with one of her many vinyl’s.

I looked up. 

“You don’t mind a bit of music, do you?” Greta asked almost briskly. 

“No, of course not.” 

She switched the record player on, and the next moment, a jazzy, melancholic voice soared out of the record player. 

 

”I'm feelin' mighty lonesome   
Haven't slept a wink   
I walk the floor and watch the door   
And in between I drink   
Black coffee   
Love's a hand-me-down brew   
I'll never know a Sunday   
In this weekday room....” 

 

I didn’t know the melody, or the singer, but it was a very good song. The woman singing had a lovely, crisp voice. 

“Who’s singing?” I asked curiously. 

“Peggy Lee,” Greta replied. “You haven’t heard of her?” 

“Nope.” 

“That is a mistake,” Greta said plainly. 

I chuckled as I saved my documents and closed the laptop. Then I rose from the chair and walked to the center of the room. I didn’t have a valid excuse for dancing, but I couldn’t help it. Maybe it was the   
tuneful melody. Or perhaps sheer relief that Greta’s melancholia had lifted. The air in the room somehow felt lighter.

Greta raised an eyebrow when I clumsily began swaying my body to what I assumed was the rhythm of the song. 

“I'm talkin' to the shadows   
One o'clock 'til four   
And Lord, how slow the moments go   
When all I do is pour   
Black coffee   
Since the blues caught my eye   
I'm hangin' out on Monday   
My Sunday dreams to dry......”

“Miss Welles, might I ask what on earth you’re doing?” Greta drawled, and I could hear the amusement in her voice. 

“I’m dancing,” I clarified. “Duh.”

“You call that dancing?” Greta asked and clicked her tongue.

“It’s the kind of dancing people do nowadays,” I defended and grinned. 

“It’s the kind of dancing young people do nowadays,” Greta corrected me. 

I just flashed her a cheeky grin and continued to sway my hips in synch with the music. I felt both a bit silly but also pretty impressed with myself. Dancing in front of anyone whilst being ridiculously   
sober was not something I normally engaged in. And if I hadn’t been so hellbent on making Greta laugh, I would never have dared.

 

“Now man was born to go a lovin'   
But was a woman born to weep and fret   
To stay at home and tend her oven   
And down her past regrets   
In coffee and cigarettes...” 

 

“I'm moonin' all the mornin'   
Moanin' all the night   
And in between its nicotine   
And not much heart to fight   
Black coffee....   
Feelin' low as the ground   
It's drivin' me crazy   
This waitin' for my baby   
To maybe come around...”

 

“You know, this could totally be my song,” I grinned as the orchestral bit faded out. “I love coffee.” 

“I’m aware that you do, ma bichette,” Greta said. “But you seem to have plenty of heart to fight.” 

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” I asked as I dramatically took a bow when the song ended. 

“Bravo,” Greta said and gave a sarcastic applause. “That was very good.” 

“You don’t like my dancing?” I said with feigned surprise. 

“I don’t like the way young people dance,” Greta teased. 

I chuckled. 

But the grin soon disappeared from my face when Greta suddenly crossed the floor in one stride and put her hands on my hips. 

“What are you doing?” I asked as a faint blush rose in my cheeks. 

“I’m teaching you the correct way to dance,” Greta drawled huskily. 

“There’s more than one way to dance.” 

“Shh. Don’t contradict the teacher,” Greta teased as a new song began playing: 

 

“I'm confessin' that I love you  
Tell me, do you love me too?  
I'm confessin' that I need you  
Honest I do, need you every hour  
In your eyes I read such strange things  
But your lips deny they're true  
Will your answer really change things  
Making me blue?”

 

Both the way her hands rested on my hips as she spun me around, and the words in the song damn nearly threw me off completely, but Greta seemed completely unaffected and did what she was best at. Teaching. 

“Move your hips in tact to the music, miss Welles,” she instructed as the jazzy tones filled the room. “Your hips aren’t normally this stiff.”

I did what she asked, and the way her hands were resting on my hips made my skin burn. 

 

“Oh, I'm afraid some day you'll leave me  
Saying "can't we still be friends"  
When you go, you know you'll grieve me  
All my life on you depends  
Am I guessin' that you love me  
Dreaming dreams of you in vain  
I'm confessin' that I love you, over again...”

 

She didn’t choose this song specifically, I firmly reminded myself as Greta took my hands in hers and spun me around to the instrumental piece. Suddenly, we were chest to back, and I was certain I could feel her nose in my hair. 

 

“I'm afraid some day you'll leave me  
Saying "can't we still be friends"  
When you go, you know you'll grieve me  
All my life on you depends  
Am I guessin' that you love me  
Dreaming dreams of you in vain  
I'm confessin' that I love you, over again...”

I almost scoffed. Dreaming dreams of you in vain. I decided right then and there that I officially hated songs with meanings. Give me meaningless rock any day. 

“There.” Greta said as a new song began. “Now you know the correct way to dance.” 

“I didn’t know there was incorrect ways to dance,” I did my best to tease. 

“Believe me, there’s plenty,” Greta said as she pulled me a little closer. This time, her hand slipped lower and ended up on my lower back.

Another song started playing:

 

“Sun lights up the day time  
Moon lights up the night  
I light up when you call my name  
And I know you're gonna treat me right  
You give me fever (You give me fever) when you kiss me  
Fever when you hold me tight (You give me fever)  
Fever in the mornin'  
Fever all through the night (Wow!)  
Everybody's got the fever  
That is somethin' you all know  
Fever isn't such a new thing  
Fever started long time ago...”

 

“You danced to this before,” I said a bit strained as each teasing rhythm brought our bodies closer together. 

“Mhmm,” Greta said noncommittally. “Believe it or not, there was a time where I loved dancing.” 

“You don’t like dancing anymore?” I inquired as she spun me around and then effortlessly caught me in her arms again.

Greta just shrugged, but then she grinned: “How do you find my dancing, miss Welles?” 

“Uhh...” I trailed off as she placed her hands on my hips again. Her own hips were swaying in perfect synch to the music. She was messing around and exaggerating her movements as she twirled us   
around, that was pretty obvious, but I could definitely still see the appeal. 

“Uhh”?” Greta repeated and raised a teasing eyebrow. “That’s your verdict? Shame on you, miss Welles.” She spun us around again, and her curls bounced around her beautiful face. 

Shit. I’m screwed, I realized as I completely mesmerized let her lead me through the dance. 

She just chuckled as her slender fingers wandered up my sides and then she grabbed onto the wide straps of my tanktop and pulled me closer than before. Our foreheads were almost touching. I could   
easily have closed the distance between us and kissed her. 

 

“Now you've listened to my story  
Here's the point that I have made  
Chicks were born to give you fever  
Be it Fahrenheit or centigrade  
We give you fever when we kiss you  
Fever if you live and learn  
Fever till you sizzle....”

 

My mouth went completely dry. She was putting on a show with the way she twisted her body and arched her back. She was most definitely putting on a show. She released my tanktop strap with one hand, and I gasped when that warm hand ended up on my lower back and she pressed over bodies flush together. 

I moaned. I just couldn’t help it. The way our bodies were pressed flush together was sending dull frissons of pleasure straight to my crotch. 

Greta raised an eyebrow at that, and she smirked shamelessly as she rucked my tanktop up and grabbed on to the bared flesh on my hips with both her hands.

I moaned again. God, we were basically grinding against each other now, but Greta made it seem almost elegant and definitely not corny. 

This woman is seriously taking the term “dirty dancing” to a new level, I thought to myself as our bodies grinded together again. 

 

What a lovely way to burn   
What a lovely way to burn   
What a lovely way to burn   
What a lovely way to burn....”

 

“You like that, miss Welles?” she taunted. Her voice had dropped several octaves. 

“Uh-huh,” I said vaguely. Was the song ending? Damnit. 

“Take off your shirt,” Greta murmured into my ear. 

Instead of wasting time with asking her to repeat that, I quickly freed my tanktop from the waistband of my jeans and pulled the shirt over my head. It landed on the floor with a soft thud. 

“Very good,” Greta praised as she bent slightly and kissed the very top of my chest. 

My head lolled back at that, and I was only vaguely aware that a new song was starting. 

 

“When we are dancing and you're dangerously near me  
I get ideas, I get ideas  
I want to hold you, so much closer than I dare to  
I want to scold you, 'cause I care more than I care too  
And when you touch me, and there's fire in every finger  
I get ideas, I get ideas  
And after we have kissed goodnight & still you linger  
I kinda think you get ideas too...”

 

The lyrics almost made me suspect foul play. There was no way she hadn’t chosen these songs on purpose, right? 

I didn’t really get the chance to ponder about it though. Suddenly, her hand wandered down and undid the top button in my jeans. 

 

“Your eyes are always saying, the things you're never saying  
I only hope they're saying, that you could love me too,  
For that's the whole idea, it's true, the lovely idea  
That I've fall in love with you...”

 

Oh god, she’s not going to.... Is she? 

Oh yes, she was. Greta smirked and caught my lips in a bruising kiss as she swiftly worked the zipper in my pants and her hand wiggled inside my jeans, inside my panties and her finger swiftly found the sensitive nub that turned my brain to mush and my stomach to soup. 

“Your eyes are always saying, the things they're never saying  
I only hope they're saying, that you could love me too...”

 

I gave up on trying to listen to the song. My brain couldn’t focus. My head fell backwards and if it hadn’t been for Greta and the iron solid grip her other hand had on my chin, I feared my head simply would have detached from my body. 

“God!” I hissed. I fought a sudden impulse to squeeze my legs together to get more friction.

“Yes?” Greta taunted and tilted my face slightly. “Is this nice, ma jolie?” 

“Fuck!” I panted in response. Her fingers kept circling me, and I was beginning to wonder how I managed to stay upright. 

“You look very pretty like this too,” she said. Her fingers flicked my bundles of nerves almost harshly and my hands shot up to grab onto her shoulders. 

“That’s right, sweet girl,” she purred. “Just lean on me. I’ve got you.” 

I moaned into the fabric of her blouse and inhaled her intoxicating scent all the way into my lungs. I didn’t want to let go of her. And I definitely didn’t want her to stop. Ever. 

And Greta didn’t stop. Instead the circles she had been demonstrating became tighter and faster, and I moaned into her neck again. 

“Come for me,” Greta said almost gently. Her voice wasn’t matching the way her thumb and index finger pinched my bundle of nerves. 

Fire licked at my belly and my legs began trembling slightly. I was rising. Higher and higher. Every nerve in my body was standing on edge. 

“Now,” Greta added, almost a bit demanding. One hand came up and squeezed my breast roughly. Then wiggled inside my bra and pinched my hardened nipple roughly. 

That was enough. Her husky voice combined with what her smart fingers were doing, were all I needed to come undone on the spot. Pleasure flooded my system, and I cried out sharply:

“Greta!” the name came out garbled and muddled. 

I wasn’t sure, but seconds before I closed my eyes when the pleasure overtook my system, I thought I saw her lips twist slightly when her real name spilled from my lips. 

I groaned and clutched at her shoulders. My legs were definitely giving in. My entire body was trembling. The orgasm was still rippling through me. Maybe I was gonna end up in a puddle on the floor. 

That seemed very likely right now. 

But Greta pressed one hand firmly against my lower back as she wiggled her hand out of my panties, adjusted both them and my jeans and then corrected my bra strap that had slipped down my   
shoulders. 

“Oh, god!” I groaned earnestly. My head still felt floaty, and I couldn’t think. Thanks to Greta, my entire system felt completely cloudy. 

A low chuckle escaped Greta as she captured my lips in another harsh kiss. Her teeth scraped against my lower lip. 

“That is the correct way to dance, miss Welles,” she huskily informed me. 

“Mmmm,” was the only thing I could say. I was finally capable of lifting my head. Which was properly a good thing. I was beginning to suffocate a little with my mouth and nose buried in her blouse. 

Greta cackled in that “look what I can do”-manner, and the desire to make her feel the same had never been stronger. 

The only problem was that I couldn’t do anything right now. I couldn’t even protest when she half dragged me over to the couch and made me sit down. 

The music had stopped, I suddenly noted. Or maybe it had a long time ago. Maybe I simply hadn’t noticed because the pleasure had been too intense. I looked up at Greta who was brushing a stray curl   
behind her ear, and I wondered how I was supposed to just leave in three days. 

I had been here for two days, but this place already felt like home. Greta felt like home. I had memorized everything about her a long time ago. Her ice blue eyes, her perfect, coiffed hair, her plump lips,   
her slender, cold fingers, the burr in her voice. The way she walked, the way she raised her eyebrow when she was triumphant or disbelieving. Even her little smirk.

“You’re staring, miss Welles,” Greta pointed out. 

I immediately averted my eyes and looked at the floor. I didn’t have the guts to tell her what I truly felt. 

And Greta was oblivious. She chuckled as she picked my tanktop up from the floor and tossed it to me. 

I blinked when the balled up fabric hit my chin. “What was the point in having me taking that off?” I inquired. Her attention had mostly been focused between my legs. 

“I like having something nice to look at,” she grinned cheekily as she walked over to the record player to slip the vinyl back in its cover. 

I’m falling for her, I silently acknowledged. I was stomping over the neat set of rules she had set up for our “relationship”, and I was fucking falling for her. 

Unlike when I had my first realization about being attracted to her, this didn’t hit me like a freight train. Nothing exploded in my head. Maybe I was still rattled after the previous orgasm. Or maybe this realization didn’t require as much hustle and bustle. 

I had tried to argue and deny when I had the first epiphany. I wasn’t gonna protest against this one. There was very little I could do about it, so why try and argue? 

I was screwed. I knew that. Falling for Greta was like wishing for the moon. I was falling for someone I could never ever have. 

And I could most definitely not tell her about it. Telling her about it would mean violating the rules I was already violating with my silent realization. 

“How quiet you’ve gone,” Greta commented. “Have I offended you with my liberties?” 

I remembered those words. She had said them when we first met at that bar. 

“No,” I said and tried to find my normal face. “I’m just a little...” 

Greta chuckled. “I should teach you how to dance more often.” 

“Yep.” I said plainly. Ever the teacher.

She chuckled again, brushed another stray curl behind her ear and then she asked: “Have you written anything?” 

“Yeah. Plenty.” I croaked a bit hoarsely. 

“Good. Then perhaps you could pop your shirt back on and give me a hand?” she gestured towards all the many black plastic bags there were still standing leaned against the walls in the houseboat. 

“Okay.” I said and quickly slipped my tanktop back on and rose from the couch on legs that were still slightly weak. 

“Splendidly,” Greta said. “You just have to help me carry them into my car.” 

“I can do that.” 

We joined forces and carried the first filled bag out to her car and stuffed it into the trunk like she had instructed. 

“How come you’re throwing all this stuff away?” I inquired as we loaded another bag of stuff into her car. 

“I’m having a clean-up,” Greta repeated. 

“Seems a bit extreme for a clean-up. There must be what, five million books in here?” I pointed out. “I don’t understand how you can just throw them away.” 

“I’m not throwing them away, miss Welles. I’m giving them to goodwill.” 

“Why?” I asked and frowned. She had plenty of room for them in her houseboat. 

Greta shrugged. “I don’t have much time to read. It seems silly to keep them. Now be a dear and help me with the last few bags.” 

I silently obeyed her but couldn’t help but wonder why anyone would throw so many classical books out. It seemed like a crime.

“Do you want to go out and have dinner tonight?” Greta asked once we were done with loading the bags into her car and sitting on her velvet couch.

I shrugged. “I don’t mind staying here.” 

“No, we should go out,” Greta said and ran a finger through her hair. “I feel like going out.” 

“Okay then.” I didn’t quite understand the way she said it. She almost sounded surprise over her own resourcefulness. 

“Is there somewhere special you’d like to eat?” she inquired. 

“Nah,” I said and gave a little half-shrug. “I trust your taste.” 

Greta let out this little bitter laugh. “Perhaps you shouldn’t.” 

“Why not?” 

But she ignored that and mused out loud: “Art of the Table. We should eat at Art of the Table.” 

“Uhh,” I protested vaguely. “That’s like crazy expensive!” 

“And so?” Greta said and shrugged. 

“You shouldn’t have to spend your money on...” 

“Miss Welles,” Greta interrupted. “I don’t have anything else to spend my money on. making sure you get something to eat seems like a fine way to spend my money.” 

“But isn’t Art of the Table a bit extreme?” 

She ignored that too. “Did you bring a dress?” she inquired. “The restaurant has a very strict “no casual attires”-rule. And we wouldn’t want to violate the rules, would we?” 

“No,” I muttered a little vaguely. Her talk about violating the rules made a bit uncomfortable. 

“So, did you bring a dress?” she asked again. 

“Uhm, yeah? But I’m not sure it’s good enough...” 

“Let me see it.” Greta said. 

I quickly shuffled off the couch and went over to my duffel bag in the corner. It took a few, solid yanks before I succeeded in pulling the light purple dress out of the bag. 

“So? What’s the verdict?” I asked as I held up the dress for Greta to see. 

“That is very pretty,” Greta commented. “And very appropriate.” 

“Great.” 

“Now that that’s settled, we should get ready,” Greta said. 

“Right.” I said and began pulling the tanktop over my head again. I had absolutely no problem with changing in front of her. 

Out of the corner of my eye, as I was in the process on unzipping my jeans, I saw Greta stand from the couch, but to my surprise, she wobbled a bit on her feet and then grabbed on to the back of one of the chairs to regain her balance. 

“Woah. Are you okay?” I asked as I hoppled over to her with one leg free of my jeans. My intention was to offer her a hand if she needed one. 

But Greta just held a dismissive hand up. “Dizzy spell. I got up too fast. I’m perfectly fine.” 

“Okay,” I said. The look on her face didn’t exactly encourage me to argue. 

Greta’s change of wardrobe consisted of a black A-line dress with a sweetheart neckline. A pearl necklace was resting around her creamy neck and a matching pair of earrings were shimmering in her ears.

With her fur collar coat and one of her many pillbox hats, she looked perfect. Like she had just stepped out of the 1950’s. 

My heart ached a little as I watched her button her coat. God, she’s beautiful. 

“Are you ready to go?” Greta asked and looked at me with her ice blue eyes. She had intensified her makeup slightly, her eyes were now framed by thick, curled lashes, and her lipstick a darker shade of   
red than what I had seen so far. 

“Mhmm,” I answered. 

Greta’s perfect, plump red lips curved up in a smile as she looked at me. “You look nice, ma bichette.” 

“Thanks. I still don’t know what that means,” I muttered. 

Greta let out a dark, chocolate-y chuckle as she spontaneously leaned forward and brushed her lips over my cheek. 

That little touch alone made me shudder and I caught myself leaning into her, hoping for more. 

“Oops,” Greta said as she reached inside her purse, found a handkerchief and wiped my cheek with the white cloth. “Lipstick.” 

Yeah, you know what, I wouldn’t mind if you left lipstick splotches all over me. 

I blushed profusely at my own thoughts. Get your mind out of the gutter, Welles! 

“Let’s get going,” Greta said briskly as she slipped on her gloves. “Come on, ma bichette.”

I followed her out of the houseboat and into her ridiculously big Mercedes. 

“Seatbelt,” Greta quipped as I closed the car door behind me. 

I scoffed as I put my seatbelt on. She didn’t need to tell me that. After the accident, I never forgot my seatbelt. Not ever. Not that I had been prone to forgetting my seatbelt before the accident, but what   
had happened was an excellent reminder of how horribly things could have gone if I hadn’t worn my seatbelt on the night “it” had happened. 

Greta buckled her own seatbelt and started the car. As we drove away from all the little houseboats, she started the radio. She most likely had some sort of CD in the radio, because “I’m Your Puppet”   
floated out of the radio, exactly like it had done that night she had taken Hannah, Michelle and I home. 

I leaned back and listened to the song:

 

“I'm yours to have and to hold  
Darling you've got full control of your puppet  
Pull another string and I'll kiss your lips, I'm your puppet  
Snap your finger and I'll turn you some flips, I'm your puppet....”

 

Greta suddenly chuckled again, a deep, rich sound, and I ducked my head a little. I hadn’t noticed that I had started humming along to the song. 

“Someone is starting to like old fashioned music,” she teased lightly. 

I just shrugged and kept humming along to the music. The tune was catchy and the words... Well, completely spot on. 

Greta reached forward and turned the music down a notch and grinned. For some reason, she seemed to prefer my tuneless humming instead of the actual song. 

 

“Pull them little strings and I'll sing you a song, I'm your puppet  
Make me do right or make me do wrong, I'm your pu-......”

 

“Watch out!” I yelled and interrupted the music abruptly. 

Greta yanked at the wheel, barely dodging the car that had come straight towards us after making a rather insane turn. 

“Connard!” Greta bellowed, and I wouldn’t have been one bit surprised if she had shaken her fist at the car. 

“Jesus Christ!” I exclaimed. My heart was pounding in my chest, and I tried to force the sound of sirens blaring out of my mind. 

“Fils de salope!” Greta growled. “What about watching the road instead of your bloody phone?!” 

I chuckled weakly at that. Not because having someone almost crashing into us was funny, but the way Greta threw French curse words around when she was agitated was a little amusing. It was like, she   
was too polite to use English language when something pissed her off. 

“Are you alright?” Greta asked. 

“Yeah. Just give me a second to re-start my heart,” I muttered. 

She shook her head. “It’s incredible that some people can’t watch where they’re going.” 

“Yeah.” The sirens were blaring in my head and I could hear the crash, feel the car slip around in all the wet puddles the rain had created that night where “it” happened. 

Greta exhaled sharply and muttered a few more French curse words. 

That made me snap out of it and I took a deep breath. I was fine. Nothing had happened. It was all good. But still....

“Putain de merde,” I said earnestly, and repeated the words Greta had taught me. 

Greta chuckled. “Very good, miss Welles,” she praised. “I’ve been a good teacher.” 

“Definitely,” I snickered and looked at her as we continued our drive. My heart clenched again. I had never felt so good with anyone in my life. No one had ever made me feel the way Greta made me feel,   
and I knew that I had to tell her about my changed feelings at some point. I had to confess that I couldn’t obey the rules. 

We turned a corner, and I saw the lights from the restaurant. Not right now, I decided. An over expensive restaurant or her dimly lit car was not the place for major confessions. 

The restaurant was definitely nice. Very nice. I was immensely grateful I had been smart enough to bring a dress with me to Greta’s. Because Art of the Table was definitely a place you wore a dress. I almost chuckled. If my mother knew I went to fancy restaurants, she would be so very surprised. 

But then again, if my mother knew other things, she would be more than surprised. She would be appalled. If she ever were to find out about me and Greta, she would most likely deny that she ever had a   
daughter. 

Greta lead me over to an available table. A waiter quickly appeared, and it didn’t take him long to conjure two glasses of sparkly water for us. 

After glancing quickly at the menu’s and ordering our food, Greta raised her glass. 

“à ta santé,” she said and flashed me a little smile.

“à la tienne,” I replied, exactly like she had taught me and clinked my glass with hers. 

“Very good,” Greta praised. “You are learning.” 

“Maybe I should learn French after finishing high school,” I joked. 

“Yes, perhaps you should.” 

I looked at her as she sipped her water. Maybe that would be a fitting excuse to stay with the best teacher in the world. 

Teacher. No, that word wasn’t fitting. Greta found it ridiculously funny, but I knew that she wasn’t just a “teacher”. She was so much more. 

 

I felt stuffed by the time we returned home to the houseboat. The food had been incredible, and the fabric of my dress felt oddly stretched out over my stomach. I quickly ditched the dress and slipped into a faded, grey t-shirt with the familiar “Rolling Stones” logo and a pair of thin, blue flannel pants. I yanked my hair out the updo I had been sporting for the occasion and shook my head a few times to let my hair fan out naturally over my shoulders and back. 

“I had a great night,” I said softly to Greta. 

“Yes, so had I,” Greta said and flashed me a little smile. 

“You didn’t have to buy dessert.” 

Greta offered me a shrug. “I felt like having dessert. And you still looked hungry.” 

I chuckled. “Half of the time I had no idea what I was putting in my mouth,” I admitted. “But it tasted great.” 

“I’m happy to hear that,” Greta said and slipped out of her high heels. “Now I suggest that we both call it a night.” she patted my arm as she brushed past me on the way to the stairs. 

“Wait!” I called. 

Greta froze on the spot and looked at me over her shoulder. 

“Can’t I...” I swallowed and then continued: “Can’t I stay with you again?” 

“You want to sleep in my bed again?” Greta murmured. 

“Yes.” I openly admitted. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Greta said plainly, like she had done last night. 

“It’ll be no different from last night,” I defended, even though it totally would. 

The floorboards creaked as Greta crossed them. Soon she was standing in front of me, and her cold fingertips brushed over my cheeks. I automatically leaned into the touch. 

“Perhaps another lesson is in order,” Greta mused, more to herself than to me. 

I tried my best to decipher her rather cryptic statement, but my mind could only concentrate on her fingers touching my cheeks. 

“Are you ready to be taught, miss Welles?” she asked. And now she actually sounded like a teacher. A fucking seductive one, but still. 

“Yes,” I breathed. Right now I was prepared to agree to anything. 

“I did say “another night”, didn’t I?” Greta murmured and cupped my cheek. 

“Y-you did,” I whispered. 

“And it looks rather dark, doesn’t it?” Greta half-joked. 

I just nodded. I couldn’t get my voice to obey. 

Greta didn’t say anything either. She just interlaced our fingers as she guided me upstairs to the bedroom I had only sat foot in twice.


	32. Chapter Thirty Two

The door to the bedroom closed with a thud. I shifted my weight from one leg to the other. 

Greta turned around and looked at me. For once, she made no attempt at taking the lead. She was waiting for me. 

And that both made my body tingle with anticipation and scared the hell out of me. because I hadn’t the faintest idea how to do this. I didn’t know what she liked and didn’t like, and no matter how I touched her, it would never feel new to her. There would always be someone else who had touched her like I had.

But instead of letting her know how nervous I was, I crossed the floor in two strides and locked my fingers in her hair as I kissed her. I couldn’t let her know how nervous I was. That would only make me come across as a fumbling teenager. And if there was something I didn’t want to be, it was a fumbling teenager. 

Greta returned the kiss. Her hands were resting lightly on my hips. She seemed completely calm. Almost too calm. 

I didn’t want her to be this calm. I wanted her to cry out and moan like I had done. 

I deepened the kiss slightly, parted her lips with the tip of my tongue. She willingly opened her mouth and for a good while we just kissed heatedly. My movements became less fumbling and I grasped her hips to bring her even closer, like we had been when we were dancing earlier. I pressed one hand against her lower back while I let my other hand explore her. She had never let me touch her before. 

Not really. And I was planning on taking advantage of this privilege. I slid my hand up, traced my fingers along her bare arm, up to her shoulder, her neck. Her skin was soft there, I quickly found out. I released her lips with a soft pop and then I kissed the spot on her neck. Her skin felt silky and soft under my lips. 

Greta turned her head to the side, baring her neck even more for me. Oh. She liked neck kisses. I kissed her neck again, this time a bit further down, closer to the spot where her neck met her shoulder. I was immediately rewarded with a velvet-y little sound in the back of her throat. 

I felt euphoric. I couldn’t believe that I was actually touching this stunningly beautiful woman. That she was just giving herself to me. Just like that. 

She suddenly took a step backwards, and for a moment, I was afraid that I had done something wrong. 

But Greta just flashed me a little smile as she reached behind her and unzipped her dress. 

My breath hitched. I had forgotten how my lungs worked. Things seemed to happen in slow motion, and I could hear the quiet scratch of her zipper. Greta wasn’t shy. Her eyes never darted away from mine. She didn’t smile anymore. She just looked at me. There was something in her gaze I couldn’t quite read. 

And then, with a very quiet thud, her dress landed on the floor. My mouth went dry as Greta took a step towards me. 

She was an absolute vision. Everything about her was beautiful. I tried to swallow and wetted my dry lips with the tip of my tongue as I looked at her. I had imagined Greta without clothes at least a million times by now, but not once had my imagination served me well. What I saw before my eyes were far, far better than any fantasy. There was no way I could have imagined this. Every curve of her was exquisite. 

Her skin was creamy white. Almost the same color as the pearls resting against the column of her throat. Her body was slender and lean, but in no way gangly like my own. Her legs were long and slightly toned. Her hips were curved in a way that gave her this natural sway whenever she moved, and her abdomen was tight and muscular. 

She was perfect. I couldn’t stop looking at her. My eyes wandered from her toned, smooth legs to her stomach and then back up to her breasts. They were cradled in a red lace bra, nearly spilling out of the cups, yet still concealed from my eyes, and my breath still hitched in my throat again. Her body was perfect. If I wasn’t so consumed by how much I wanted her, I would be jealous. I averted my eyes, licked my lips and looked at her legs again. I felt unable to control myself, and I suddenly got the urge to rip off her thigh high stockings. The thigh-highs were held up by a red lace garter belt that matched her bra and panties. A garter belt. I had never been able to figure out how to use those properly, but I could definitely see the appeal. My mouth suddenly felt rather dry again. 

But Greta let out a small chuckle and brushed a stray curl behind her ear. 

The sound of her voice brought me back. “You are beautiful,” I whispered. 

“Thank you, ma bichette,” she replied softly. This was the first time she had spoken since we entered the bedroom. Her voice was calm. Gentle. 

I closed the distance between us again and reached out and touched her. I couldn’t help myself anymore. I had to touch her. Soon my fingers were on her hips, then tracing upwards against her side. To   
her front. I touched her stomach, followed a random pattern upwards. I brushed my fingers over the lace of her bra, touched the top of her chest that wasn’t concealed from me. I left a line of goosebumps on her skin in my wake. Eager to leave even more, I leaned forward and kissed the top of her chest, and I heard her exhale softly at that. 

Next, I traced my fingers along her sternum, and I could sense that it felt a bit different from the rest of her that was smooth and soft. It wasn’t a huge difference, though, and it wasn’t visible to the eye either. There was just something. It almost felt like a slight bump on the bone. I bowed my head and kissed it. I don’t know why I did it. My instincts were just taking over. 

Greta shuddered again, and as I boldly lowered my hands to her breasts, I could feel her nipples hardening through the fabric of her bra. I desperately wanted to strip her of her remaining clothes, but suddenly she rucked my tanktop up and pulled it over my head. Opposed to her, I had already ditched my bra for tonight, and it was my turn to gasp when the rush of cold air on my exposed chest immediately made my nipples harden. 

Greta looked positively mischievous as her fingers travelled lower and rolled one of my hardened buds between her skilled fingers. My head lolled back, and I bit my lip. 

“Take those off,” Greta softly ordered and nodded towards my pajama pants. 

I didn’t bother with answering. Instead I just hooked my fingers around the waistband of my pajama pants and slid them down my legs. Then I stepped out of them. 

“On the bed,” Greta drawled and gestured to her enormous bed.

Once again, I did as she told me. The bed dipped slightly as I lied down. 

Greta stretched one leg slightly and then she skillfully unclipped the garters and slowly slid the stockings down her legs. I exhaled sharply at that. The gesture sent shivers down my spine, and those shivers quickly turned into raw, unbridled arousal that pooled between my legs. I wanted her. More than I had ever wanted anything or anyone in my life. 

She dropped the stockings to the floor and then walked towards me. A vision of red lace and creamy skin. Then she was standing over me. She outstretched a hand, and I quickly got the message and took her hand. She was allowing me to guide her into bed with me. Soon she was lying next to me, her chestnut curls spreading out on the pillow. 

“I’m all yours for tonight, miss Welles,” she drawled. 

I had never heard anything quite so wonderful and scary at the same time. This woman, this beautiful, unobtainable woman with the enchanting eyes were giving herself to me. I so wanted this to be   
amazing for her. I wanted to please her, like she had pleased me. I wanted to make her fly. 

My breath quickened again as I moved to be on top of her again. I hovered with one hand on her shoulder, unsure how to do this. 

I suddenly realized how inexperienced I was. I had dreamed about doing this for so long, and now, as I finally found myself in that situation, it dawned on me that I had no idea how to do this. That   
almost broke my spirit. 

Greta reached up and cupped my face. “Relax,” she cooed, exactly like she had the first night on Hotel Ballard. “I’ll guide you.” 

I exhaled, feeling a little calmer. If Greta helped me, I could do this. 

“Take your time,” Greta said softly. “There’s no rush.” 

That was exactly what I desired. Time. Time to explore her body like she had explored mine. I wanted to know every part of her. Every curve, every bump.

“Just follow your instincts, ma jolie,” she said. Her voice was even raspier than normal, and the sound made more warm pool between my legs. 

But this wasn’t about me. No, this was about Greta. I wanted tonight to be about Greta. I wanted to make her feel good. Just follow your instincts, she had said. And following my instincts was exactly   
what I did as I dipped down and captured her lips in a soft kiss. I let the tip of my tongue ghost over her lower lip, and she gently parted her lips for me. Our tongues met. Not messily or demanding, but soft and sweetly. It could have been a dance. I was on top of her, I had initiated the kiss, but Greta was most definitely the one to set the pace and rhythm. I didn’t mind that at all. She was guiding me, exactly like she had said she would. 

Once I could sense that she was out of air, I pulled back and looked down at her. Her lips were wet, a bit swollen, and her ice blue eyes were clouded and darker than I had ever seen. 

I couldn’t keep looking at her face. If I did, I would end up begging her to do things to me. And tonight wasn’t about me. I planted another kiss on her neck. Then one more, a bit further down. Her skin was so impossibly soft under my lips, and the raspy sounds she were letting out made my head spin. Those were the most erotic sounds I had ever heard, and I never wanted them to stop. Ever. I swirled my tongue over a spot just below her ear and couldn’t resist to pull a bit on the skin. Not enough to make a mark, but enough to get a satisfying whiff of the perfume that was blending in wonderfully with her own scent. 

“No marks,” Greta warned hoarsely.

I almost chuckled at that. Says the woman who “marked” me. But I decided to heed her warning. After I nipped at her skin one last time. 

Greta’s fingers locked behind my neck as she pulled me down for another kiss. And as our lips once again moved softly against each other, one of her hands travelled lower and squeezed my breast rather unabashedly. I gasped surprised into her mouth and was sure she chuckled in return. 

That almost threw me off completely. That nearly made me forget about my plan to please her, but then I grinned mischievously as I batted her hand away and reached behind her. I wanted to peel her layers away. All of them. I wanted no barriers between us. 

My fingers didn’t even tremble as I unhooked her bra and slid the straps down her shoulders. It was every other part of me that trembled when I dared looking at her again. She was so fucking perfect. Her breasts were so significantly bigger than mine. Her nipples were hard points. Her state of partial nudity was bewitching. She was a vision. None of my dreams about her could possibly measure up to this. 

And Greta wasn’t shy about her body. She flashed me another little smirk and raised her eyebrow in a “what are you gonna do now”-manner. 

I knew exactly what I was gonna do. I dropped her bra to the floor and palmed her breasts. Her breath came out snubbed off at that, and I could feel her hardened peaks against my palms. Experimentally, 

I zeroed in on her nipple and rolled it gently between my fingers. She was so soft. Softer than I could ever have imagined. I had never touched another woman like this before, I had never touched her like this before, and I felt more addicted to her than ever. 

My ministrations elicited another quiet moan from her, and I watched mesmerized as her curls fell back over her shoulders as back arched slightly. 

“Do that again,” she murmured softly. Once again, she was the teacher, and I was the student.

I immediately took her request to heart and took her other nipple between my fingers and then rolled it gently. 

“Oh, yes!” Greta breathed. “Just like that, sweetpea.” 

Her praise made me euphoric and I grew bolder in my touches. Soon I was rolling her nipples just a bit harder. Applying a bit more pressure. And the response I got was intoxicating. Enough to make me   
even bolder. Without giving it much thought, or feeling embarrassed in the slightest, I lowered my mouth to her breast and swirled my tongue over her stiff peak. The first few testing swipes were hesitant and a bit clumsy, but Greta was sweet and patient as she guided me and told me exactly what she liked and didn’t like. And soon I knew exactly how much pressure to apply. How to tease and swipe my tongue over the hardened peaks or purse my lips and blow cold air on her. 

Up until now, her hands had been placed on my shoulders, both to guide me, and to give her something to hold on to, but now her hands were curled into fists. I could feel how her back arched up to meet my tongue, and when I tryingly took one of her hardened peaks between my lips and sucked lightly, her back went stiff for a second. Maybe she hadn’t expected it, or maybe she was just thoroughly enjoying it. Or maybe both. 

She wasn’t loud. That was one of the first things I had picked up on. Where my moans were sharp and uncontrolled, hers were light and airy, almost tuneful, perhaps a little controlled, but still incredibly sensual. And most definitely the best thing I had ever exposed my ears to. 

Suddenly, her fingers wrapped loosely around my wrist. That nearly made me abandon my task, but she simply guided my hand to her other breast. 

Oh. Of course. I couldn’t neglect the other one. I immediately began kneading her breast gently, then I rolled her nipple between my fingers while my mouth never left her other stiff peak. The low moans she let out at that were glorious, and her fingers threaded through my hair. Occasionally, her fingers scraped lightly against my scalp and that sent new waves of warmth down my spine. 

I switched side and gave her other breast the exact same treatment. Once I was sure I could hear her heart thrum against her ribs, I lifted my head and looked up at her. Her ice blue eyes were still dark, and they were bigger than I had seen them before. Her normally pale cheeks were tinted rosy, and the smile she sent me made my heart swell in a way that made me afraid it would pop right out of my chest. 

She cupped the back of my knee as she pulled me up and kissed me deeply, stealing the oxygen right out of my lungs. This kiss was slightly rougher, but I didn’t mind that. The way her teeth pulled at my lower lip only made me yearn for more.

As we parted, she caressed my cheek lightly and flashed me another heart wrenchingly beautiful smile. 

I could have told her so much right then and there. I could have confessed my true feelings without fearing her reaction, but the look on her face bid me to keep my feelings hidden for now. Now wasn’t the time for confessions. And certainly not for confessions of that caliber. I dipped down to kiss her neck again, and for a moment I found myself mesmerized by the way the light reflected in the pearls around her neck. I kissed my way down to her sternum. My tongue grazed the slight difference on the bone, and I caught myself wondering what had happened. 

But then Greta let out another guttural sound, and my speculations were quickly forgotten. 

“This is lovely, ma jolie, but I’m starting to need you elsewhere.” She breathed. 

I too sucked in a breath at that. I knew I had done well so far, and I was terrified at screwing up. I knew it wasn’t rocket science, but I wanted this to be good. I wanted it to be special for Greta. 

And most of all, I wanted it to mean something. Of course I couldn’t tell her that, but...

“You’ll do fine,” Greta said gently. 

I pursed my lips. I wanted to do better than fine. I wanted to leave an imprint on her, like she had left an imprint on me. 

She caressed my cheek softly once more, and I pulled myself together and shifted slightly on top of her. 

Greta let out a little, dry cough at that, and I immediately shifted again so I didn’t feel like deadweight on top of her. 

“I’m sorry,” I murmured. 

“It’s alright. Don’t worry,” she said gently. “You’re fine.” 

Carefully not to crush her, I dipped down and kissed her lips once more. Then I moved my lips down her neck, to the front of her chest. I gave into temptation and gave each of her nipples a teasing kiss. 

Her body shivered at that. 

Then my lips continued their journey downwards until I reached her flat stomach. I teased her again and dipped my tongue into her belly button. I wasn’t completely sure, but I think I heard some garbled French words at that. I specifically avoided the apex of her thighs. Instead I focused on kissing each part of her leg, all the way down to her knee. Then I switched side and did the same to her other leg. 

“Céline.” Greta said. That was the first time she had said my name that night, and as it tumbled from her lips now, it almost sounded like a warning. 

Maybe it was in fact a warning. Maybe this was her subtle way of telling me to get on with it, so to speak. 

So I swallowed and ignored the nervous gnaw in my belly as I peeled down her panties. There was wet patch on them, I noted. I could see it on the red lace fabric. She was aroused. And seeing and feeling the physical evidence of her arousal almost made me dizzy all over again When the panties were draped loosely around her ankles, Greta wiggled slightly and kicked them away. 

This was the first time I saw her naked, and once again her beauty knocked me over. She was breathtaking. Stunning. In every way. 

And then I was hit with a surprising wave of sadness. Because how could she give herself away so willingly? How could she allow strangers the privileges to her body? How could it just be business for her? 

I didn’t understand. 

Greta crooked her finger slightly and made a “come hither” motion. 

More than willingly, I obeyed, and she took me in her arms for a moment. Held me close in a way she hadn’t done before. Then her cold fingers locked around my wrist. 

“Here, let me show you what to do,” she murmured softly. With that, she guided my hand in between her legs. 

“Like this,” she whispered as she guided my fingers to her tight bundles of nerves. Both of us swallowed audible at that. Still with my hand between her legs, I shifted slightly so I was on top of her again, but this time without crushing her. I dragged my finger over her tight bundles of nerves once. Just to test the waters. 

Greta parted her legs for me. Her chest was rising and falling fast now, and I couldn’t help but feeling a little bit proud. I was doing this to her. I petted her bud again and then I slipped my fingers through her folds. The result of her arousal was obvious on my fingers and that sent a new round of shivers down my spine. I let my fingers travel up again and then I took her sensitive bundle of nerves between my fingers and rolled it gently. 

“A bit harder, ma jolie,” Greta rasped. Her fingers joined mine as she showed me exactly how to touch her. 

I did what she asked, and that elicited a quiet moan from her. “Oh, yes! That’s it,” she breathed.

I kept my fingers movements up, but at the same time, I lowered my mouth to her breast again and kissed random patterns. I could feel how Greta’s back arched under me, and I could hear those delicious, low moans she let out every time my fingers rubbed against her. 

Suddenly, her fingers grasped my wrist again and she pushed my fingers down until they were lined up against her entrance. 

I swallowed. Fuck. Okay. If I could please her one way, I could do this too. I lifted my head and looked up at her. Her eyes were open, and she flashed me a gentle, coaxing smile. She was encouraging me. 

I could almost have laughed at the absurdity in that. She was the one who was giving herself to someone completely inexperienced, and I was the one who was nervous. 

I swallowed again, and then I very slowly pressed my finger against her entrance. There was absolutely no resistance. My finger easily slipped inside her, and I saw how her back arched at the intrusion, and for a moment I was afraid that I had been too sudden. That I had hurt her. But then she gave my cheek a light pet. Her fingers were trembling a little. I could feel it against my cheek.

“One more,” she whispered. 

She didn’t need to explain further. I carefully added a second finger. I kept my gaze firmly locked on her face to check her reaction, and I wasn’t disappointed. Her head lolled back, and her jaw went slack. 

“C-curl your fingers,” she breathed and held up two shaking fingers in a “come hither”-motion. “Like this.” 

I copied the way her fingers curled, and she gasped sharply. 

“M-move,” she said plainly. 

She left no instructions on how. I was flying slightly blindly here, but slowly I began moving my fingers within her, and it didn’t take long before they brushed against a slightly rougher patch inside her. 

“Just like that!” Greta hissed. “Don’t stop!” 

And making all those wonderful sounds go away? I don’t think so. I kept moving my fingers, careful to keep them in line with the soft spot inside her, and soon I grew bolder and sped up my movements   
just a bit.

Greta was still by no means loud. In fact, the more rapid my movements within her became, the quieter she became. Her moans were merely whispers in the darkened bedroom. But what she didn’t express with her voice, she told me with her body. Her hips rolled as they came up to meet my fingers, and her back arched. 

I moved my fingers again, pulled backwards, almost withdrawing them completely, only to slip them back inside her and connect with her sensitive spot again. 

Greta let out another low sound at that, and it only took me a few seconds to realize that it wasn’t English. But it wasn’t gibberish either. I almost chuckled into her skin. Whatever she was uttering in French had to be an expression of what she was feeling right now. 

Suddenly, her hand landed on my shoulder with a clap. The way her fingers were digging into my shoulder was almost painful, but I was more than capable of abstracting from it as I suddenly felt her tighten around my fingers. 

I knew enough to know what that meant, and I sped my movements up until my wrist began cramping slightly. I ignored that too. I kept angling my fingers with the spot that made new, quiet moans spill from her lips. 

I could feel how she tightened around my fingers again, and I was sure the way her fingers dug into my naked shoulder was enough to leave a mark. But I didn’t care about that. Greta’s mark was one I would be proud to carry. 

Then her grip on my shoulder became impossible tight. Her back arched. I quickly lifted my head. I had to see this. I had to see her fall apart. 

She didn’t make a sound as she came. Her mouth simply fell open in a silent “O”. Her head fell backwards until her curls almost were brushing the lower part of her shoulders. Her abdomen flexed, once, twice, and then my fingers got coated in her juices. 

I watched her in awe. I would never see anything more beautiful than this. I was sure of that. 

Then her body grew limp. Her grip on my shoulder softened, but she didn’t move her hand as she melted back against the mattress. Her eyes were still closed, and her chest was rising and falling rapidly. 

I felt that ridiculous pride again. I had made her come. She looked like this because of me. 

Very slowly and gently I withdrew my fingers from her. She let out another sound at that, and I curiously brought my fingers up to my lips. One by one, I licked my fingers clean, and I wasn’t even surprised that I liked the taste of her. She tasted sweet, rich. Amazing. 

I gently rolled off her. I was definitely taking advantage of her current, limp state as I snuggled up in her arms. Snuggling like this was probably against the rules. Those damned rules. I lifted my head to look at her. Her still closed eyes, her chest rising and falling quickly, her rosy cheeks. And I wondered what the most horrible thing about falling in love with her was. 

Why couldn’t I just fall a little bit in love with her? Why wasn’t I allowed to do that? 

I took her hand in mine, brought it up to my lips like I had just done with my own, and then I very gently kissed her each of her fingertips. 

Greta opened her eyes. Her ice blue gaze was still a bit darker than usual, but her smirk was exactly the same. 

“My, my.” She rasped and coughed dryly. “You are just full of surprises, miss Welles.” 

My brows knitted together at that. “I am? I don’t think I did anything else than doing what you asked.” 

She chuckled and then shook her head in what I could only describe as sheer disbelief. “I didn’t think you would be capable of it.” 

“Of what?” I asked. My confusion grew. 

She shot me a look with her eyebrow raised, and things dawned on me. 

“Making you come?” I said. “But... Wasn’t that kind of the point with this?” 

“Yes, yes it was.” Greta chuckled. “But lately, the only one who has been able to make me come has been... Well, me.” 

“Oh.” I chewed on that for a moment, and then I realized what she meant. “Ohhh!” what she had said at our last hotel stay suddenly echoed in my head: “I doubt you’ll be able to.” She hadn’t just been   
referring to my at the time limp state. She had very literally doubted that I would be able to. 

“As I said, you’re full of surprises, miss Welles.” Greta said plainly and gave my cheek a light pet. 

“Did I do alright?” I asked. “I was a bit nervous.” 

“You did wonderfully,” Greta assured me. “You don’t even need a teacher.” 

“Yes, I do.” I said immediately. I didn’t think of her as a “teacher” anymore, but the way she said it, could roughly be translated to “you don’t need me anymore”. 

And if there was something I needed, it was her. I needed her more than I needed to breathe. 

She ran her fingers lazily through my hair, and I chuckled as I looked at her hair. For once, it was slightly ruffled. For once, her curls were out of place. But she still looked perfect, with rosy cheeks and   
slightly swollen lips. 

Why can’t I just be a little bit in love with her? Why can’t I love her? 

I knew that we were an unlikely pair. The bumbling, awkward teenager and the sophisticated, older woman. But wasn’t that how it worked? Opposites attracts and all that? 

I didn’t just want her to be my teacher. I didn’t just want a “no strings attached”-relationship with her. 

I wanted something else. I wanted a deeper connection with her. I wanted to be hers, and I wanted her to be mine. 

“Greta...” I murmured and sucked in a breath, mentally preparing myself to confess what I felt. 

“Mmm? Oh, sorry, ma jolie,” she grinned. “Of course, we’re not done yet.” 

She easily nudged me onto my back, and I breathed her perfume all the way into my lungs as she dipped down to kiss me. Within seconds, she ridded me of my panties, and then she began kissing her   
way down my body. From my breast to my abdomen. I gasped when her fingers wrapped around my ankle and placed my foot flat on the mattress. The anticipation over what was about to happen,   
completely bluescreened my system, and I forgot everything about confessions. My brain fogged up, and I moaned loudly as she pressed a kiss to my sensitive inner lips. It felt exactly like how it would feel if it was my mouth she was kissing. My fingers instinctively gripped onto the bedding as her tongue slid through my folds, she teased my clit with the very tip of her tongue for a moment, and then prodded at my entrance. 

“P-please,” I moaned. I was already begging her. I didn’t have the same control she had. 

But begging her wasn’t necessary. Greta didn’t waste time with teasing. She simply slipped her tongue inside me, and I was grateful this wasn’t a hotel room with people staying right behind the next wall,   
because the moan I let out would definitely have caused a few complains. 

We were alone. I didn’t have to worry about potential complains. And I didn’t. My fingers tightened around the bedsheet as her tongue moved flawlessly between my thighs, pressing against all those weak spots she already knew so well. 

It didn’t take long before I was completely gone. I hadn’t expected myself to go that quickly but holding back was impossible. Especially because the images of Greta coming undone was still fresh in my mind. 

I couldn’t hold back when it came to my reaction either. I yelled her name into the ceiling. I could feel myself tighten around her tongue. My thighs were trembling violently, and I was almost afraid they would snap closed and clamp down around her. My back arched painfully off the bed, and I reminded myself not to pull at her soft curls. I didn’t want to hurt her.

Then I felt Greta’s soft hand on my outer thigh. Her cold fingers were gently stroking my skin. She was still helping me. Seeing me through it. 

“Fuck!” I exclaimed as my spine finally straightened out against the bed. 

Greta smirked at me as she emerged from her position between my legs. She licked her lips in a way that made my neck and cheeks flush again. 

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, ma jolie,” she drawled. 

I almost wanted to roll my eyes. “Enjoying myself” was probably the understatement of the fucking year. 

She grinned again, and then she flipped us, so I was suddenly sitting in her lap. I immediately took the opportunity to wrap my arms around her neck and kiss her deeply, but the kiss soon turned into a   
series of moans as she found my swollen clit with the tip of her finger. 

I buried my face in the crook of her neck, and I would have paid all the riches in the world to extend our night with a few hundredth years.......

 

 

**************

 

The first thing I heard the next morning was the rumbling sound of thunder. I slowly lifted my head from the pillow, and I could immediately feel how sore I was feeling in quite a few places. But this was the kind of soreness I didn’t mind one bit. 

The sky was dark when I looked out of the window. It was morning, but the sky was still dark. Purple-black clouds were hanging low. It looked like they were almost dipping into the water, and the lightening’s were zigzagging across the sky. Immediately followed by claps of thunder. 

I rubbed a hand over my eyes and rolled my shoulders. Then a smile blossomed on my face. 

Greta was lying next to me. Still fast asleep. And irritatingly graceful when doing so. Admittedly, her hair was a bit of a mess, but there were no sleep marks on her face or anything. 

Maybe waking her was a bit of a sin, but I couldn’t help myself and lowered my mouth to her naked shoulder, pressing a soft kiss to her warm skin. 

She stirred slightly, groaned something I couldn’t quite understand and then she coughed slightly as to clear her throat. 

“What time is it?” she rasped. 

“No idea,” I answered. Quite unhelpfully. 

She scowled slightly, stretched her limbs and then freed one leg from the covers. 

“No,” I said gently and grasped her wrist. My voice was barely audible through the rumbling of thunder. “Stay.” 

“I have things to do, miss Welles.” 

“Stay.” I repeated. 

She scowled. 

“Just for a while,” I quickly added. Don’t let her know how attached you are to her. 

“What would be the point in that?” Greta asked and rolled on to her back. That obviously meant her breasts were bared, and that almost distracted me. 

“Talk to me,” I said spontaneously as I rolled onto my side to look at her. 

She let out a little, amused sound. “Talk to you, miss Welles? What on earth is there to talk about, hmm?” 

“Talking’s nice!” I defended. 

She chuckled, and I didn’t know why, but I was beginning to associate the sound with dark chocolate. “What do you want to talk about?” she inquired and raised an eyebrow. 

“Why do you have a French middle name?” I blurted out and asked the first thing that came to mind. 

“Why do you have a French first name, Céline?” she teased and flicked one of my golden locks between her fingers. 

I bobbed my shoulder. “I have a crazy mother who doesn’t believe in American names?” 

She grinned at that. 

“Your turn. Why do you have a French middle name?” I asked again and gave her a slight nudge. 

“My grandfather found it appropriate,” Greta shrugged.

My eyebrows knitted together. “Your grandfather?” 

“Mhmm. As I told you, my parents weren’t parent material. I was raised by my grandfather.” 

“And what, he loved France?” 

“Not particularly,” Greta chuckled. 

“Okay.” That didn’t really explain the name Alexandrine. It wasn’t particularly American. And neither was Greta for that matter. 

“I was born in Switzerland. More specifically, Geneva.” Greta said and suffocated a yawn. “But my grandfather moved us to New York when I was ten to live Le rêve américain.”

“The American dream?” I guessed. 

“Exactly. He found that America was a far better place to get an education, and such.” 

“Oh.” That explained her frequent use of the French language, and her journeys to Geneva. 

“Are we done talking?” she teased as she rolled onto her side once more, so we were face to face.

“No.” I protested. “We’re not.” 

“What do you want to talk about then?” she drawled. As she talked, she ran her finger over the curve of my ass. That distracted me too. 

“I... I dunno,” I blurted out. Her fingers were tapping gently against my backside. 

“You don’t know?” she teased as she kneaded my ass rather unabashedly. “I’d say, miss Welles, you’re very interesting to talk to.” 

“Shut up,” I muttered. 

She raised her eyebrow, lifted her hand from my ass, but when she brought it back down, it connected with my skin with a sharp thud. 

I yelped in surprise. 

Greta chuckled. 

“Seriously?” I said and glared at her. “Did you just smack me?” 

“Yes. However are you gonna move past it?” Greta drawled, sounding rather unconcerned by her actions. 

“I can’t believe that you...” 

“You were being rude to me in my own home. I had to correct your attitude,” she said. 

I never found out whether she was joking or not. The next second, she elegantly hopped out of bed and ran a finger through her hair. 

“You should probably take a shower,” she said over her shoulder. 

Right then. I pulled my legs out of the tangled sheets and stumbled into her bathroom. Talking time was done. 

I didn’t want to bother with filling the bathtub. Instead I just pulled the shower curtain aside and went into the shower. I turned the water on and wrapped my arms around myself as I waited for it to turn   
warm instead of ice cold. After about ten seconds, the water was nice and warm, so I lowered my arms and turned around, so I was facing the water. 

I was sticky from sweat trickling down my body, and the space between my legs felt sticky for well... other reasons. Standing under the hot water was nice. The bathroom was filling up with steam, but I was enjoying myself too much to actually care. I ran my fingers through my hair and swept it away from my face. 

Suddenly, the shower curtain was ripped away, and my first irrational thought was that I was in the middle of a re-enactment of “Psycho”. 

But it wasn’t Norman Bates dressed at his mother, ready to murder me. It was Greta, and she smirked as she gave me a soft nudge. 

“Give me some room,” she drawled. 

I shuffled aside, and she stepped in behind me. Her hands wandered up my sides as she gently spun me around. Then she cupped my breasts and pushed me back against the wall. 

I didn’t protest in the slightest. Instead I buried my fingers in her already wet hair and kissed her deeply. 

Getting clean could wait a little longer. I quickly forgot why I even was in the shower when Greta suddenly grasped my hands, plucked them away from her hair and pinned them against the wall instead. 

My breath sped up. She gave me no opportunity to move my hands. Her grip on my wrists were iron clad as she released my lips with a soft pop and attacked my neck instead. Her teeth scraped over my   
skin, and I shuddered, and my wrists jerked in her hold. 

“Non, ma jolie,” Greta breathed into my ear. “Keep your wrist where they are.” 

I whimpered but did what she said. Was this her way of “rectifying” the situation, so to speak? Was this how she “made up” for the fact that I had touched her last night? 

I didn’t find out. Instead I moaned deeply as she sucked on my pulse point. The water was still pouring down over us, but I had a feeling that the building steam in the bathroom had zero to do with the water’s temperature. 

“I’m going to move my hands now,” Greta purred almost warningly into my ear. “And you are going to keep your wrists in place for me.” 

I nodded wordlessly and moaned again. 

“Good girl,” she breathed and then she slowly loosened her grip on my wrists. Soon, I felt her blunt nails scrape over my stomach, and my entire abdomen tightened at that. But I didn’t move my wrists. I   
kept them in position above my head. 

“You cut quite the figure like this, ma bichette,” Greta said. She pinched one my nipples lightly, and I squeezed my eyes shut. Something warm trickled down my thigh at that, and once again, it had   
nothing to do with the water soaking us. 

A thigh was shoved in between my legs, and my moan was high pitched when I felt her bumping her thigh against my clit. More wetness pooled between my legs, and I knew Greta could feel it on her leg. 

A part of me wanted to blush, but then she was kissing me again, and I quickly forgot all about my embarrassment. The tip of her tongue traced along the seam of my lips, and I immediately parted my lips for her. Our tongues connected, and I wanted nothing more than to just move my hands and wrap my arms around her. But she had forbidden me to do so. And it was hard to remember all the things 

I wanted to do. That thigh between my legs started moving against my clit, and I had to roll my hips to get a little more friction. 

But suddenly, the thigh disappeared, and I couldn’t resist to pout a little. Before I could get the chance to voice my frustration however, her fingers more than made up for the loss of her thigh as they ventured down and stroked between my legs. 

The kiss we were sharing was growing sloppy, but it was my fault. I couldn’t concentrate on kissing her. Not when two of her fingers pressed lightly against my entrance. 

Breaking the kiss, I nodded frantically. God yes, I needed her fingers inside me. And I needed them inside me now. 

I didn’t have to tell her that. A hand came up and grasped my chin, tilting my face up. Panting slightly, I met her gaze, and the way her eyes had darkened was almost enough to make me come right then   
and there. 

Greta kept looking me square in the eyes as she slipped two fingers inside me. I was the one who had to squeeze my eyes shut. And it very little to do with the way the water poured down. I had seen   
something in her eyes. Something that wasn’t lust. Something that seemed....

“Ah!” I immediately abandoned all thought when she started moving her fingers within me. My hips jerked once before finding a rhythm that worked when I rolled against her touch. 

Her other hand came up and grabbed my wrist again. Squeezed it a bit. My head fell back against the slippery tiles behind us. I didn’t know how I managed to stay upright. 

And then her mouth was on my breast. Lightly grazing my nipple with her tongue before sucking the hardened peak into her mouth. Her fingers thumped harder inside me. 

I cried out. As opposed to her, I couldn’t be quiet. I didn’t know how. Warmth exploded in my belly so untamed and profusely, I wasn’t sure I was gonna live through it. My head jerked, and then knocked back against the tiles again. Through the sound of the water still running, I registered the sound the back of my head had made when it collided with the wall. It should hurt, but it didn’t. I couldn’t feel   
anything beside Greta’s fingers inside me and her mouth on my breast. 

The world shrank once again until it only consisted of me and Greta in this bathroom. 

I cried out again, and my voice was far louder than the sound of the water running. 

The way my muscles squeezed and squeezed around her fingers, gave me a pretty good indication that I would need a second shower after this, but I didn’t care.

I felt invincible after our shower. Like I could take on the whole world and still win. Everything felt possible, and I couldn’t stop smiling as we had breakfast. 

“Are you going to study for your last test today?” Greta asked through the occasional roars of thunder. 

“Yeah, I think I have to.” I said and took another bite of my piece of toast. Of course, I had to study for the test. That sort of obsessive behavior when it came to school tests had been drilled into me since   
early childhood. I always found myself turning into some sort of study-zombie when there was a test at school. 

“Good,” she nodded. And then she said the only words that could ruin my morning: 

“You’ll have to be on your own this afternoon.” 

The piece of toast became tasteless in my mouth, and I just wanted to spit it out. Why? Why did she have to leave today? 

“Where are you going?” I asked. I sort of already knew, but not really. 

“The Rainier Club,” she replied calmly without taking her eyes off the cup of tea in front of her. 

The Rainier Club. I choked down a scoff. Whoever she was “seeing” tonight had plenty of money. It was such a crass reminder of everything that stood between us. I could get close to her, but I could   
never quite reach her. Even when I felt closer to her than ever, there was always something that reminded me why it could never be me and her. 

I tried to remember how to swallow the piece of toast in my mouth. 

“Maybe you could give me a lift to the library on the way,” I said and was careful to keep my voice completely neutral. “I’d like sit and study there for a while.” 

“I most certainly can,” Greta said. Her voice was neutral too, but I was sure I could hear something in it. Was I imagining it, or was she upset over having to leave this afternoon? 

I looked at her, but her face revealed nothing as she calmly sipped her tea. 

I, however, was left with a sharp, cold feeling in the pit of my stomach. How could our morning in the shower have turned into this? Why was there always something there just had to remind me of her profession? 

You’re not allowed to be jealous, I reminded myself as I took another bite of the toast. 

The food didn’t taste of anything. Had I been chewing on an old carpet, there probably wouldn’t have been a different between the two tastes. 

I took a sip of my coffee, but that too tasted different. Completely bitter with my jealously.

 

So, after breakfast, I packed my laptop and then I followed Greta into her Mercedes.

Greta didn’t say much as she drove me to Queen Anne Branch- The Seattle Public Library, but as we parked out front, she reached into her purse and handed me some money. 

“Take a cab back to the houseboat,” she said. 

“You don’t have to give me mon...” 

“Ma jolie, the weather is horrible,” Greta interrupted me. “You’ll catch a cold or something worse if you walk around outside. Take a cab back to the houseboat. I insist.” 

“Fine. Thanks.” I muttered as I shoved the money into my pocket. 

She just nodded. “I’ll be back this evening.” 

“Okay.” 

“Have a nice day,” she said a bit reserved. 

And what was I supposed to say to that? You too? Hey, why don’t you ditch your rich paying “date” and spend the day with me instead?

I was suddenly overwhelmed by a rush of jealousy, and before I could stop myself I leaned in and kissed her almost desperately. 

Her lips were stiff and surprised against mine. But only for a second or so. I could feel how they softened and then her hands came up to cup my face gently. 

Quit your job. Just quit your job. Stay with me. She deserves to be with someone who appreciates her. Not someone who pays for her company. I would appreciate her. I do appreciate her. She deserves something better. She deserves the entire fucking world.

My fingers tangled into her hair, and I was half-considering saying, “fuck it” and climb onto her lap like I had done the night before. A new wave of desire murmured in the very pit of my stomach, and I   
unbuckled my seatbelt. Maybe I was just gonna say “fuck it”. Maybe I didn’t care whether we were in her houseboat or her car.

But before I could do anything, I heard the sound of tires screeching rather aggressively. A car had just come to a screeching halt near us.

Disturbed at the sound, we broke apart, and I looked out of the window to see what had happened. It almost sounded like an accident.

For a moment, my brain refused to accept what my eyes were seeing. 

For a moment, I hoped, I had seen wrong. 

For a moment, I thought I had seen wrong. 

Because there was no way that was my mother sitting in her car and staring at me with wide eyes. 

There was no way I had crossed paths with her as she came home from her nightshift at the hospital.

There was no way my mother had just seen me kiss Greta.


	33. Chapter Thirty Three

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. 

The rain was getting heavier and reading my mother’s face as she passed us in the car was impossible, but I was pretty sure she wasn’t ecstatic at what she had just seen. 

Fuck.

Greta rolled her ice blue eyes once. “Wonderful. Just marvelous,” she said sardonically. 

I just looked at her in horror. 

“I knew I never should have gotten involved with a teenager,” she continued and sighed gravely. “Too many complications.” 

She had a point there. The fact that my mother knew was definitely a complication. 

Greta sighed again and shook her head slightly. Her chestnut curls bounced around her face at the movement. “This is a problem,” she stated plainly. “Nobody was supposed to know about this.” 

She was right about that too, but it still hurt me a little, that she was so hellbent on keeping the thing between us hidden. 

“But obviously, this is not your fault,” Greta continued. “This one is on me.” 

“How can my mother popping up out of nowhere be your fault?” I asked and raised an eyebrow at the impossible in her statement. 

“You’re eighteen.” Greta said. Like that was explanation enough. 

“Yeah, I am,” I nodded. “Old enough to make my own decisions.” 

To my surprise, she laughed humorlessly at that. “Forgive me, ma bichette, but hearing you say that, only stresses out how young you are.” 

“That doesn’t make any sense,” I pointed out. 

Greta just looked out at the falling rain. 

“This doesn’t really change anything,” I said and tried to brush the whole thing off. “My relationship with my mother was deteriorating anyway, her knowing about us doesn’t really...” 

“Us?” Greta repeated and raised an eyebrow. “Be careful, Miss Welles. You’re beginning to sound like you’ve forgotten the rules.” 

I opened my mouth, but I couldn’t think of anything sensible to say to that statement. 

“There is no “us”.” Greta said firmly. “There never has been. You might be living with at my place at the moment, but please don’t let that confuse you.” 

I choked down some bile along with a very crass response. 

Maybe Greta could see my face twist, because her voice were much gentler when she continued: “I’m no good for you. Eventually, I would break your heart.” 

I didn’t respond to that either. Didn’t she realize, that what she was saying right now, was kind of already breaking my heart? 

“I think there’s a break in the rain,” Greta said and interrupted my inner musings. “In you go.” 

“Right. See you later,” I muttered. Something jabbed at my ribs when I remembered that I had to leave tomorrow. After our wonderful night and blissful morning together, that had completely slipped my   
mind, but now I was suddenly attacked by the realization. 

And as I walked the short distance to the library the thought of that made some sort of metaphorical stone settle in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t want to leave. I definitely didn’t want to leave. 

Leaving tomorrow...... I had a bad feeling about it. It was like, not being physically close to Greta would create some sort of barrier between us. I could already feel it. knowing that my mother had seen us, had completely changed Greta’s attitude. Gone was the soft, patient and almost loving woman I had gotten a glimpse of last night. That woman had been carefully replaced with a brusque, cold and business-like version of Greta I didn’t really like. Alexandra, I suddenly realized. That was what that version of her was called. Alexandra. I sighed. I couldn’t reach her when she was like this. 

Or maybe I was just fooling myself. Maybe I had never been able to reach her. 

I sat down at one of the many tables, opened my laptop and plugged it in. Now I was supposed to study, but I had barely logged in before my phone started vibrating in my pocket. A quick glance at the screen told me that it was my mother trying to reach me, but even if I hadn’t been at the library, I still wouldn’t have answered. She would have to leave a message. 

Which she did. I grimaced as I listened to it. Her voice was shrill and hectic, and she threw words around in an unruly jumble. I heard phrases as “madness”, “in the middle of the street”, “what has gotten into you”, “spiraling out of control”, "predator" “older woman”, “crazy behavior”, “not how I raised you”, and my favorite: “to spite me”. 

I almost found that to be amusing. Did she really think that I was kissing Greta because of her? Did she really think that I was doing what I was doing because of her? 

It was shocking, really. To think that she thought she had so much power over me. The idea that she thought I was doing this to rebel against her and get her attention was ridiculous.

Of course, I already knew that she was full of herself, but this was really something else. 

I deleted the message. And I didn’t call her back either. Nothing good would come from that. If I called her now, she would start to spit venom at me before I got the chance to say anything, and there had been enough crass words between us. Especially from her.

As I turned my attention back to the word document on the laptop screen, I could feel that the boiling anger towards my mother was starting to fade. I wasn’t sure why, but I just knew that I had come to some sort of realization. Being angry at her simply wasn’t worth it. She wasn’t worth the mental space. And she certainly wasn’t worth my anger. I didn’t hate her. I just... didn’t care. She and I were so different I barely felt a connection to her anymore.

Of course, that was not how it was supposed to be between a mother and a daughter, I knew that. But I also knew that if she wanted any sort of relationship with me in the future, a lot of things would have to change drastically. 

My phone vibrated again. My mother had never been one for giving up, that much was sure. The next message was really just a repetition of the first one. The same “have you lost your mind” questions. 

And in her opinion, yeah, I probably had lost my mind. In her opinion, kissing another (older!) woman was basically reason to get committed. 

But when it came to kissing Greta, or just Greta in general, I had zero regrets. 

Unfortunately, it sounded a lot like Greta had. Her words echoed in my head: Eventually, I would break your heart. 

That sounded a bit melodramatic to me, but the way she had said it.... There had been something in her voice. Something so inevitable. 

I didn’t understand it. I didn’t understand those sudden attacks of melancholia she often got. 

And I didn’t understand her regrets either. Last night and earlier this morning, she had seemed perfectly at ease. Reachable. More open than I had ever seen her before. There had been no signs of any regrets when she held me in her arms last night. she had seemed so calm as she had stroked my hair and my cheek as I drifted off. 

Once again, I was left with the knowledge that there still were so many things I didn’t know or understand about Greta. She had literally peeled off a few layers for me last night, but there was still something gnawing in the pit of my stomach. It was like there was two sides of her. A sassy, confident, beautiful woman who knew how to act, how to walk, how to talk. How to say what people wanted to hear. How to always be perfect. 

And then there was this melancholic, but still beautiful woman who seemed burdened by something. Something she refused to talk about. 

Yes, there was two sides of her. There were Alexandra, the sassy, confident side, and then there was Greta, the melancholic, haunted side.

The fake name she had given me wasn’t just the name she used “professionally”. It was a fucking defense mechanism. I was beginning to realize that now. She preferred to be called Alexandra, preferred to be Alexandra, because Greta was troubled. 

I stared at the computer screen, slightly taken aback over my own realization. Now the question was, why was Greta troubled? What was it that sometimes made her melancholic? 

That question was enough to haunt me as I typed in word after word. I wanted to know why she was troubled, but I didn’t quite know to ask her. 

There is no “us”. There never has been. I’m no good for you. Why couldn’t she let me decide what was and wasn’t good for me? My movements became slightly more aggressive as I tapped more words in. 

And the magnificent irony was of course, that I had never felt better. I had been staying at her place for four days, and not once had I woken up with nightmares. Not once had the sound of metal hitting metal echoed in my head. I had just slept peacefully. And it wasn’t just during these four days. It was every single night I had ever spent with her. I had slept. Without nightmares. But it was more than just the nightmare free nights. Greta made me safe. She made me feel happy in a way I had never experienced before. One look at her face, and I felt completely calm. Wrapped in the knowledge that nothing bad could happen as long as I was with her. 

This was more than just addiction, I knew that. 

I was forbidden to speak my mind, but I knew I was in love with her. Inevitably and undeniably so. There was nothing I could do about it. I couldn’t just not feel the way I felt about her. 

And of course, that meant I was screwed. 

There is no “us”. There never has been. 

I’m no good for you. 

That was such a cliché thing to say. But of course, Greta had managed to make it sound not-cliché, but deeply serious. A warning to be heeded. 

Why is she always warning me about herself? I wondered. Why was it so important to her to make sure the thin wall between us remained intact?

For a moment, I could see a vision of myself kicking down that wall and demanding answers from her. But of course, that was just a vision. 

I was nowhere near brave enough to crave answers. I had a feeling that demanding answers from Greta, could be compared to opening a can of worms. Nobody likes worms, and there was a very good   
chance I wouldn’t like the answers Greta would give me. 

After a few hours of non-stop, intense studying about a subject I struggled to understand fully, I closed my laptop and left the library. 

 

The rain was still pouring down, so I had no choice but to use the money Greta had given me to pay for a cab.   
Whilst the cab took me back to Union Lake and Greta’s houseboat, my phone went off again. But this time, it wasn’t my mother. It was Michelle, informing me that she was back from her “study haze” and couldn’t wait to see me tomorrow. I told her that I couldn’t wait to see her either. And that was true. I was looking forward to seeing my friend. It was the idea of not coming back to Greta’s that bothered me. I wouldn’t have minded staying there for a few more days. Or a few more weeks. Or a few more months.

“There is no “us”. There never has been.” 

An enormous lump was forming in my throat, but the cab driver was already shooting me concerned glances, so I tried my best to ignore the growing feeling of despair. 

The houseboat was oddly quiet when I stepped inside. It was almost a bit creepy. Well, not creepy-creepy, but the absence of Greta was... Loud. I couldn’t think of any other way to describe it. 

I sat the laptop down on the coffee table. For a moment, I was torn between lunch and writing about something I actually wanted to write about. But then I decided on lunch. I had been studying all morning, and I was feeling hungry. 

After having a small and modest lunch, I found myself growing restless. I didn’t like hanging around here without Greta. All the rooms felt oddly big and empty. I was considering calling Michelle and ask her about her the “study haze” she had just been in. Of course, she had sent regular Snapchat’s of the pile of books and written “dying” underneath the pictures, but I had been so consumed with Greta, I had barely found the time to answer. 

I would make up for that when I saw Michelle tomorrow. And then I would come up with some sort of reason as to why I hadn’t been much around. Maybe I could use studying as an excuse.

Tomorrow, I thought bitterly to myself. I was gonna leave tomorrow. Might as well start packing then. I quickly began stuffing my clothes back into the duffel bag, and then I remembered the clothes still lying upstairs in Greta’s bedroom. 

I quickly abandoned the duffel bag on the floor and padded upstairs and into Greta’s bedroom. She hadn’t had the time to make the bed this morning, I noted. The sheets were still tangled together, like she and I had been tangled together last night. 

I quickly found the checkered pajama pants and the tanktop I had been wearing the night before. And the panties, she had peeled off me. I found those tangled into the sheets. 

I sat down on the edge of the bed and allowed me to become consumed by the memories of last night for a while. I was allowed that. I was allowed to dwell on the memories for a while before I had to leave. 

But dwelling on the memories only made it feel even more final, so it didn’t take long before I rose from the bed and dragged the duffel bag with me downstairs. 

Packing my stuff didn’t feel nice either. Was there any way I could talk Greta into letting me stay just one more day? One day wasn’t much, right? Just one more night. Just one more opportunity to sleep in her arms. 

I dumped the duffel bag on the red velvet couch. The silence in the houseboat was eerie. Maybe I could put some music on. Greta wouldn’t mind if I snooped through her collections of LPs, would she? 

I went over to the shelf and looked at her impressive collections of vinyl’s. The covers were dusty of most of them. She probably didn’t have a lot of time to listen to them. A shame, really. 

After rummaging through her shelf, I found an old Peggy Lee LP. That was what we had uhm... danced to the other day. I liked Peggy Lee. 

I quickly switched the record player on, and soon Peggy Lee’s seductive voice soared out and quelled the silence in the houseboat: 

 

“There were bells on the hill,  
But I never heard them ringing.  
No, I never heard them at all,  
Till there was you.

 

There were birds in the sky,  
But I never saw them winging.  
No, I never saw them at all,  
Till there was you.

Then there was music and wonderful roses,  
They tell me in sweet fragrant meadows.  
Of dawn and dew.

 

There was love all around,  
But I never heard it singing.  
No, I never heard it at all,  
Till there was you.”

 

I scoffed. Great. Fucking fantastic. I should have found some meaningless rock on my phone instead.

 

“Then there was music and wonderful roses,  
They tell me in sweet fragrant meadows,  
Of dawn and dew.”

 

“There was love all around,  
But I never heard it singing,  
No, I never heard it at all.  
Till there was you,  
Till there was you.” 

 

The last “till there was you” filled the houseboat and my mood was only sinking further. This song sucked. Well, obviously it didn’t, but it kind of did anyway. It was a little too precise. Greta had most certainly opened my eyes to sudden things during our hotel stays, but it was more than that. 

There was love all around, but I never heard it singing, no, I never heard it at all. Till there was you.

Damn it. I was really in love with her. I wonder when that happened? The song changed:

 

“Every kiss, every hug seems to  
Act just like a drug  
You're getting to be a habit with me  
Let me stay in your arms,  
I'm addicted to your charms  
You're getting to be a habit with me.”

 

Right. Maybe I should just turn the music off. I turned my back on the record player, as Peggy blurted out something along the lines: “I used to think your love was something I could take or leave alone,” and that’s when I noticed the papers lying on the floor. They must have been stuffed behind the vinyl’s and fallen out when I snatched one of the LPs. I bent down and picked them up. 

And then I wished I hadn’t. Not because the motive was bad in anyway, quite the contrary. 

It was pictures of Greta. Clearly painted by someone highly professional. A real painter. My mouth went dry, and behind me, the record player was mocking me: 

 

“No I can't break away  
I must have you every day  
As regularly as coffee or tea  
You've got me in your clutches  
And I can't break free  
You're getting to be a habit  
With me-can't break it  
You're getting to be a habit with me.”

 

A faint conversation I’d had with Greta at some point echoed in my head: “I once spent a week with an artist.” And clearly, these pictures were the result of that. Greta looked beautiful in all three of the pictures. She was lying on some sort of bed in all three of the pictures, but her poses were different. In the first picture, the silk sheet was casually wrapped around her, and she was smiling lazily at the artist. In the second picture, she was lying on her front with her knees bent and her ankles crossed in the air. She was wearing a pair of thin stockings and high heels. And absolutely nothing else. 

And in the third and final painting, she was lying on her front again. One of her hands were playing with her hair, while the other one was invitingly outstretched to the painter. Or the one looking at the picture. I certainly found myself incapable of looking away from the alluring pictures, and I soon noticed all the little things that were different about this Greta from the Greta I knew. Her hair was longer.   
Almost brushing her elbows. Her cheeks were rosier, fuller. The same thing for her body. It was somehow fuller. Her curves more accentuated than what I had seen last night. It didn’t take me long to realize that she was younger here. I quickly turned the pictures around to see if there was a date written. I was in luck. There was indeed a date and a year written in the back, and after doing some quick math, I gathered that she was twenty four in this picture. Twenty four and exactly as beautiful as she was today. 

A date and a year wasn’t the only thing written in the back. There was also a greeting: 

 

“Dearest Alexandra, 

A humble thank you for the best month in my life. 

Rebecca.”

 

Of course, getting jealous at this unknown “Rebecca” was ridiculous, but that was never the less my first impulse. I kept finding snippets and fragments of the life Greta was living, and I didn’t like it. And I didn’t like the fact that the artist had been a woman, either. I didn’t like that Rebecca was thanking Greta for “the best month in her life”. 

What sort of person is this artist anyway? Paying someone to spend a month with her?

Probably a thoroughly decent person. I sighed. It wasn’t my place to judge anyone for anything. 

I flipped the pictures and looked at Greta again. She looked absolutely breathtaking. Perfect, as she lied there on the bed and flirted with the artist. So perfect. She just radiated that “you’ll never catch me”-attitude. And she looked calm. Relaxed. Her smile didn’t have that underlying melancholia I so often spotted. 

I touched the paint on the paper. It was dry, of course it was. This picture was painted a long time ago, but Greta looked so alive. I almost expected her to get up from the bed and walk out of the painting and smirk at me.

I sat down on the couch and lied the pictures out on the coffee table in front of me to fully admire them. Whoever this “Rebecca” was, she was one hell of a talented artist. 

My phone vibrated, but I was too busy looking at the pictures to care. And it was probably my mother anyway. 

I didn’t want to talk to her right now. 

 

I dozed off. I payed the ultimate price for the lack of sleep the previous night, and I fell asleep on the couch. 

When I woke up, it was dark outside. And Greta was sitting curled up in the armchair next to me. She had kicked off her shoes and traded her pencil skirt and crisp blouse for a long, black silk nightgown with tiny straps. 

She flashed me a little smile as I lifted my head. 

“Hi,” I muttered and wondered what kind of mood she would be in now. 

“I see someone poked around while I was gone.” She drawled. 

“Huh?” I frowned for a second, but then I glanced at the coffee table. The pictures were still lying there, on display for anyone. 

Greta smirked slightly. 

“Shit, I’m sorry.” I said as I realized I had been very much busted. “They fell out when I was looking at your music shelf. I didn’t mean to...” 

“Don’t worry,” Greta dismissed. “You can have them. Let’s call it a present.” 

I opened my mouth to protest, but as so often before, she beat me to it and said: 

“I was gonna throw them out anyway. Keep them.” the offer came out muffled because she was suffocating a yawn. “Something to remember me by,” she added as an afterthought. 

“I’m pretty sure I don’t need something to remember you by,” I muttered so quietly she didn’t hear, and louder: “You don’t need to give me presents.” 

Greta shrugged. “I have no use for those pictures anymore. Either I tear them to pieces and throw the pieces away, or I give the pictures to you.” 

“Don’t you dare ripping those pictures!” I said with unexpected ferocity. The thought alone was painful. 

Greta scoffed a little. “Have you had any dinner?” she inquired and uncrossed her legs. 

“Nope. I fell asleep,” I reminded her and rubbed my cheek. God forbid there were sleeping marks on my face. 

“Are you good with staying in tonight?” she asked. “I don’t really feel like going out.” 

“That’s fine.” I assured her as I studied her face. She looked as beautiful as she did this morning, but she also looked tired. Those dark circles under her eyes were back, her cheeks were a bit pale, but what really struck me, was that her ice blue eyes were slightly glassy. 

“Are you okay?” I dared asking. 

“Mhmm.” Greta said dismissively. “What time will you be leaving tomorrow?” 

Why? Eager to be rid of me? 

I didn’t say that. Instead I shrugged nonchalantly and said: “Early afternoon, I think. Is that okay?” 

“Suits me fine. I have to be at the Airport at six.” Greta said and suffocated another yawn. 

“Where are you going?” 

“To Geneva.” 

“When are you coming back?” I blurted out. 

Greta raised an eyebrow. “In a month. I have some things to attend to.” 

“Right.” ‘a month’. She wouldn’t be back until October. The thought of that made my intestines twist painfully. I had already been without her for three months. How was I gonna survive another month without her? Was that even humanly possible? 

“Can I call you when you get back?” I asked. 

Greta hesitated. “I think it would be better if you didn’t.” 

I ignored that. “I would really like to celebrate my graduation with you.” 

“Miss Welles...” 

“Please?” I interrupted. “I’m not asking you to be present when they call my name, I just... I would just really like if we could celebrate it at some point.” After today, I wasn’t too sure that my mother was gonna show up, and I couldn’t think of anyone I would rather celebrate it with. 

“I’ll.... Consider it,” Greta said strained. “But don’t make it into something it’s not.” 

“I won’t.” 

That was a lie. I already had plans for that night. Plans that involved telling her exactly how I felt. I could do that when she got back. In three weeks. By that time, I would know exactly what to say and how to say it. 

I couldn’t tell her tonight. Not when she looked this tired. 

“I should probably start dinner,” Greta mused as she rose from her chair. 

“You don’t have to make anything special,” I said quickly. “We could just order takeout.” 

She huffed. “Miss Welles does my waistline look like it enjoys takeout?” 

“Not really.” 

“Right you are.” Greta said. She pursed her lips as she looked at me. I was still half-lying on the couch. 

“Is it even worth asking you whether you’re going to sleep on the couch tonight?” she inquired. 

“Nope.” I replied and dared grinning a little. 

She rolled her ice blue eyes at that. “Miss Welles, you’re quite impossible.” 

“Yeah. I guess I am.” 

She clicked her tongue. “For someone who’s only been in my bedroom twice, you sure feel at home.” 

I could have told her the truth about my habit of “poking around”, but I chose to keep my mouth shut. 

There would be plenty of time for confessions when she got back.


	34. Chapter Thirty Four

My first irrational impulse that morning was sadness. 

Just knowing that it would be a whole month before I was gonna see Greta again was enough to make me feel completely crushed. I wondered how I was supposed to pass the time until she got back from Geneva. 

And then what would happen? By the time she got back, I would be done with school. My stomach twisted nervously when I thought of the decision, I had made about confessing my feelings when I saw her again in October. With her fluctuating mood, I literally had no idea how she would react to my confession. I didn’t know how she would take it, but I knew I had to come clean. Otherwise I would go mad. Plain and simple. 

I couldn’t keep bottling things up. That was the sure route to ulcers. 

I rolled on to my side and propped myself up on one elbow. Greta was still fast asleep next to me. That was a rarity. Normally, she was up before me. Or at least awake. 

I scoffed. Normally. I had lived with her for five days, and I was already determining what was normal for her and what wasn’t. 

I was definitely in over my head. 

But I was also aware that we still had some golden, precious hours left before we had to go our separate ways. And I wanted to make the most of those hours. Every second counted. 

I leaned forward and planted a light kiss on her bare shoulder. The covers had slipped down sometime during the night, and her black silk nightgown didn’t provide much cover. That woman had a whole arsenal of luxury silk nightgowns. So far, I had only seen her in the white ones, but I had spotted the million of different colors peeking out from her closet. I liked this black one. It made her creamy skin seem almost porcelain like. 

I kissed her shoulder again. Her skin felt cold under my lips, and I imagined how I could warm it up by kissing her everywhere. 

She made this little, half-cough in the back of her throat. Her eyelids fluttered, and then she rolled onto her side, opening her ice blue eyes and looking at me. 

“Hi,” I said and flashed her a little smile. I wonder what kind of mood she’ll be in today?

“Good morning,” she softly greeted me. “Did you sleep alright?” 

“Yep. No nightmares.” 

“Nightmares?” Greta echoed and raised an eyebrow. 

Oh. Right. I still hadn’t told her about my “baggage”. I’ll add that to the list of things I’ll tell her on graduation night. 

For now, I just settled for a shrug and a vague: “Sometimes I have pretty bad nightmares.” 

“Have you now?” Greta said and ran a finger through her curls. “Well, I suppose that’s normal.” 

“Do you?”

“Do I what?” 

“Have nightmares,” I précised.

“Don’t we all?” Greta retorted. 

“I suppose so.” I wondered what kinds of nightmares Greta had. 

“Well, since I’m awake...” Greta interrupted my musings and freed one leg from the covers. 

“No!” I blurted out and before I could stop myself, my hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. 

Her eyebrow rose dangerously at that. “What are you doing, miss Welles?” 

“Stay a little longer.” I pleaded. 

“Why?” she inquired. 

“Because it could be nice.” 

Greta scoffed slightly, but then a wicked grin spread across her face. Her voice dropped an octave as she said: “Convince me.” 

“What?” I asked a little taken aback. 

“Convince me to stay a little longer,” she drawled. 

Oh. Ohhh! I could do that. At least I thought I could. I leaned in and planted another light kiss on her shoulder. Then one more. 

Greta hummed in approval. “That’s nice, ma bichette.” 

But she didn’t sound very impressed, so I quickly shuffled closer and kissed her lips instead. She hummed in approval again, and this time she sounded a bit more impressed. That was enough to encourage me further. I wiggled out of the covers and positioned myself on top of her. I reminded myself to not let my bodyweight crush her as I lowered my head and kissed her again. Her hands wiggled inside my shirt, and soon her fingertips were drawing lazy patterns all over my back as we kissed. The way her fingers caressed my back was almost enough to distract me, but I quickly reminded herself that I was trying to convince her- not the other way around. I kissed her again and pulled teasingly at her bottom lip. Not enough to cause any pain, but enough to let her know that I was “serious”. Next, I started dotting kisses all over her neck. All the way down to the spot where her neck met her shoulder, and Greta helpfully moved her head to give me better access. 

“Convinced yet?” I boldly teased. 

Greta just smirked up at me. “No. You’ll have to do better than this, miss Welles.” 

She was challenging me. She was most definitely challenging me. And I had never been one to ignore a challenge. I adjusted slightly and sat up. Then I slowly began drawing her nightgown up. 

She smirked again, and I found myself returning the smile tenfold. Her mood had changed. I didn’t know what had caused it, but I was so grateful. This was the version of Greta I recognized. This was the version of Greta that gave me hope. 

“So far, so good,” she commented when her nightgown was hiked up around her waist and revealed her gloriously long legs. 

“You’re so beautiful,” I said spontaneously as I took in the image of her as she was lying there, all tousled hair and sparkling eyes. 

Her smile became softer at that, and she reached up and cupped my cheek. 

That nearly threw me off too. This smile was worlds away from the arrogant ones she had flashed me yesterday. 

“Time is ticking, miss Welles,” she reminded me slyly. 

Oh right. I dipped down and kissed her neck again. The column of her throat. The strange little bump on her sternum. Then I slowly began my descended down towards her breasts. I made short process of the thin straps on her nightgown, pushed them down her arms. Then I pushed the nightgown out of the way. Now it was bunched awkwardly around her hips, but I made no attempt at removing it completely. I could do that later. Right now, there were more important things to do. I planted a light kiss on the top of her right breast, and then used my fingers to tease the already pebbling nipple. My touches were still a bit hesitant, a little shy. Despite her “lesson”, I still wasn’t a hundredth percent certain on how to touch her. 

But Greta’s only reaction was to “mmm!” softly and sink further into the mattress, so I quickly understood that I was on to something here. I pursed my lips and blew cold air on her nipple until it turned into a hard point standing completely upright. 

“You little tease,” Greta commented. “That was rather inspired.” 

I chuckled as I pursed my lips again and did the same to her other nipple. 

“Lick it,” Greta challenged and raised her eyebrow in an “I dare you”-manner. 

I quickly swiped my tongue over her hard nipple. Then her other. 

“Very good,” Greta complimented. “But I’m not entirely convinced yet.” 

Challenge accepted. I wrapped my lips around her nipple and sucked lightly. 

She arched her back at that, and I could feel how her pulse quickened. 

“Harder,” she commanded breathlessly. 

I found myself more than capable of doing that. Her wish was my command, and as I sucked and teased her nipple, I remembered what she had said about neglect the last time. I brought my hand up and started to knead her other breast gently. 

“V-very good,” she breathed. 

If I could, I would have smirked. I had made her stutter. After spending some time on her right breast, I switched side and gave her left breast the same treatment. 

Honestly, I could have spent hours like this. Kissing and worshipping every part of her, but Greta suddenly grasped my chin and pulled me up for a kiss. That was something I could spent hours doing too.   
Kissing Greta. After succeeding in making me breathless, she broke the kiss, and without breaking the eye contact between us, she shimmied out of her nightgown and pushed her panties down her legs until they were pooling around her ankles. 

“Do you remember what I taught you?” she teased as she parted her legs. 

Of course I remembered, but I also remembered what she had done to me. How her tongue and lips had driven me half-mad. I wanted to do the same to her, but once again I was getting closer to unknown territory. And this time very literally. 

Sensing my hesitation, Greta cupped my cheek and pecked my lips lightly again. “Just do whatever feels natural, sweetpea.” She cooed. “Don’t rush it.”

Right. Whatever feels natural. Don’t rush it. I lowered my mouth to her skin once again and began dotting a new line of kisses from her breast and all the way to her toned stomach. A very small part of me wondered how this could be the same woman there had been with me in the car yesterday. How could the cold, distant and brusque woman be the same kind, gentle and patient woman lying underneath me right now? How could she claim that there was no “us” when her eyes reflected such gentleness right now? 

This soft and gentle Greta gave me hope. Hope, that confessing my feelings wasn’t insanity. The change in our relationship couldn’t just be something I was imagining. I refused to believe that. 

I placed a few more kisses on her stomach, then I teasingly nipped at her skin, just to test her reaction. And I wasn’t disappointed. I could feel how her back arched. Then I reached her abdomen. Another few kisses were placed here and there, and then I travelled lower. Explored the soft skin on her hips. Kissed her outer thigh. Then her other. 

“Céline...” Greta breathed. Was it a subtle warning to get on with it? 

I brought my hand down to feel between her legs, and my throat immediately felt completely dry. She was soaked to a point that made me wonder why she hadn’t spoken up until now. Talk about self-control. 

I didn’t want to think too much of how she had gained all that self-control. Instead I pushed her legs farther apart and settled between them. A twinge of anxiety gnawed in my stomach, but then I felt   
Greta’s soft fingers in my hair. Like last time, she was calming me. And she was trusting me not to fuck this up completely. 

I lowered my head again and ran my tongue through her wetness. Greta’s hips twitched at that, and I could have sworn I heard her say a less pretty word. 

“Do that again,” she half-commanded. 

I lapped at her again, and her fingers tightened in my hair. She still tasted spicy and sweet and salty and incredible. My anxiety melted away. There was absolutely nothing to be anxious about. I placed my palms flatly against her thighs for support as I ran my tongue through her slit again, lapped at her entrance and then slowly pushed inside. After a bit of exploring, I found a spot that made her actually cry out.

“God!” Greta moaned. I could tell she was trying really hard not to pull at my hair, but I actually didn’t mind a little bit of hair pulling. 

She moaned again, and the sound was music to my ears as I withdrew my tongue from her and instead dragged it over her bundle of nerves. She squirmed at that and her thighs trembled on either side of my face. 

I kept my focus on her clit, but this time I didn’t quite settle for dragging my tongue over the sensitive little nub. Instead I switched to quick, firm licks. 

Her reaction to that was far better than I could have imagined. Her grip on my hair tightened again and her English was replaced by French phrases I had no idea what meant. Not that I cared much. Listening to her airy cries of pleasure was more than enough. 

I swept my tongue over her swollen little nub again. How much longer? How much longer before she comes? God, she tastes so fucking good! 

“F-fingers,” Greta suddenly breathed. “Use your fingers.” 

She was challenging me a little, but I liked that. I wanted nothing more than to please her. I released her clit from my lips and then I brought my hand down and positioned two fingers at her entrance.   
They sank in with absolutely no resistance, and Greta moaned again as her back arched. 

“One more,” she rasped. 

I did what she asked, and I made sure to curl them the way she had taught me. Then I lowered my head and licked at her bundle of nerves again while my fingers found a steady pace inside her. 

Her breath completely hitched at my slow, steady pace and her grip on my hair became impossibly tight. 

Now I almost wished she wouldn’t come just yet. The soft, breathy sounds she let out were glorious, and I just wanted to keep listening to them. 

Like last time, she was going more and more quiet. I already knew enough to know what that meant. I gradually picked up the pace until my fingers rubbed against her soft spot almost roughly. I flattened my tongue against her clit, gave long, broad swipes. I tried to remember what she had done to me, what had felt good, and then I went from soft licks to hard, flicking motions. 

Without any type of warning, her thighs clamped down around my face and kept me exactly where I was. Not that she needed to use force to keep me there, but the way her back arched told me that she had very little control over her body right now. My fingers thumped against her soft spot, and she released this quiet, animalistic cry as her walls tightened around my fingers, and I could feel her juices soaking them. 

Her fingers were pulling at my hair, her thighs were clamped down around my face, and for a very brief second, it felt like she was trying to choke me. 

But then her legs fell open, her spasming muscles relaxed, and she released this deep sigh that seemed to come from her belly. 

I slowly withdrew my sticky fingers and lifted my head to look at her. Her eyes were closed, and her chest were rising and falling quickly. 

Once again, I was left with a sense of pride, and I almost grinned as I licked my fingers clean and then wiped my mouth. 

“Are you convinced now?” I asked cheekily. 

“Vixen.” She said plainly. 

I chuckled. Vixen. That was a new one. 

She slowly opened her eyes and I marveled at what I had done to her. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, and her ice blue eyes were sparkling. 

“See? You don’t need a teacher,” she said softly.

“Yes, I do.” I immediately retorted. 

“No, you don’t.” she murmured and let out a little, amused cough. 

I bit my lip. Okay, you’re right. I might not need a teacher, but I do need you. So much. 

“I pulled your hair, didn’t I?” she said gently and petted my cheek lightly. “I’m sorry about that.” 

“Don’t worry about it. I....” now my cheeks were flushed as I admitted: “I kind of liked it.” 

Greta chuckled amused. “You’ve just used your mouth on me for the first time and yet you blush at confessing that you like having your hair pulled. Your priorities are out of order, miss Welles.” 

Obviously, that only made me blush again. 

But Greta just laughed and patted my cheek. “Take off your clothes, ma jolie.” 

I found myself more than capable of doing that, and I didn’t even mess around as I freed myself from my clothes. Greta crooked her finger at me. “Come here.” 

I shuffled closer and within seconds, Greta’s hands were on my waist as she helped me, guided me until I was straddling one of her thighs. 

Her hands were on my hips as she guided me to rock against her thigh. I groaned at the first little movement. The friction was absolutely incredible. I splayed my fingers out along Greta’s ribs for support as I repeated the movement. 

“That’s it,” Greta breathed. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” 

“Y-yeah,” I mumbled. I couldn’t really concentrate on what she was saying. Dull frissons of pleasure was already rolling through my veins at the way my clit dragged along her soft flesh, and yet I needed more. I sped up and rocked against her faster. 

Greta’s hands easily found home and rested against the curve my ass as she wiggled slightly. She ended up in this awkward sitting position, but she didn’t seem to mind that at all. She just kissed me fiercely and swallowed every moan spilling from my lips as her hands helped me rock against her thigh faster and faster. 

“Yes,” she whispered between kisses. “Just like that, Céline. Just keep going. Make yourself feel good. You look so beautiful like this.” 

And I did feel good. I did feel beautiful. But I could also feel hot tears brimming in my eyes because a very small part of my brain kept reminding me that I wouldn’t see her for a month and I had no idea what I was gonna do without her. 

She was both my paradise and my apocalypse. Thanks to her, my feelings were all over the spectrum. She literally made me feel everything at once. 

Her lips found mine again, her hands left the curve of my ass and slid up to rest on my cheeks instead. 

I wrapped my arms around her neck as I rocked against her thigh faster and faster. Suddenly, she worked her hand in between our entwined bodies and cupped my breast. Then she squeezed it lightly.   
Her lips found my neck, and my head lolled backwards, and I shouted nonsense as I felt her teeth sink into my neck. 

The world blurred slightly. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut and held on to Greta for dear life as I was swept away on a high so powerful it knocked the air out of my lungs. I gasped as I blindly clung to Greta. The only thing that kept me here, the only thing that kept me grounded in my body was her voice in my ear and her firm grip on my hips as they stuttered out one last, half-hearted rhythm against her thigh. 

 

We ended our extended morning in the shower. And Greta once again adopted that slightly more business like attitude. She wasn’t unkind or brusque in any way, though. Her voice had been nothing but gentle when we were in the shower and having breakfast, but I could still sense the little almost imperceptible switch in her mood. It was almost like she was reminding herself that she was leaving. And that I was leaving. 

I didn’t want to leave. I could feel that to the bone. But I couldn’t very well count as her luggage when she went to Geneva to.... 

I had no idea what she was doing in Geneva. But I did know that she was born there. That made her visits to Switzerland a bit more logic. 

“We better get a move on,” Greta said and switched the record player off. I had enjoyed hearing her humming along to the tunes after breakfast, but now I was once again pulled back into reality. And reality was cruel. 

“Yeah. Right.” I muttered. 

Greta brushed a hand over her already perfect pencil skirt, and then she disappeared upstairs. I heard the floorboards creak in the bedroom. The tap being turned on in the bathroom, and after a bit of pottering around, she returned downstairs with a suitcase in hand. 

“Are you ready to go?” she asked almost curtly. 

I glanced at my duffel bag. “Mhmm.” Unfortunately. 

Greta looked at her wristwatch. “I have to be at the airport very soon,” she told me. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride to your friend’s house.” 

“Oh.” I hadn’t actually thought about that. Not really. I had just expected to catch a bus or something like that. 

“You don’t have to give me a....” 

She interrupted me by giving me a certain look. “It’s no trouble. And it’s better to make sure.” 

“Make sure what?” 

“That you don’t get into trouble on the way,” she quipped lightly. 

“Oh, ha, ha, ha. Very funny, Greta. I never get into trouble.” 

She raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been staying with a woman you barely know for five days.” 

“I do know you,” I immediately protested. 

She laughed and shook her head. “No. Really you don’t.” 

In a way, she was right, but I still felt like I did know her. Like I had always known her. I felt more connected to her than I did with anyone else. It wasn’t this deep connection I so longed for, but it was still there. 

I realized, that I was staring at her again. And then I realized that she was staring at me too. But it only took five seconds after the realization before she averted her eyes, weighed the suitcase in her hand and said: “Shall we?” 

“I guess so.” 

Reluctantly, I followed her out of the houseboat. 

 

The drive to North Queen Anne and Michelle’s house was too short. I felt absolutely no desire to leave the Mercedes when we pulled up in front of Michelle’s house. 

“Well...” Greta said and looked out of the window. 

“Thank you for letting me stay with you,” I said. I had no idea where the sudden politeness came from.

“It was my pleasure entirely, miss Welles.” Greta said. 

Was she trying to make a lewd joke? Possibly. But I didn’t even crack a smile. I was too upset at the prospect of being without her for three weeks.

“Good luck with your final test. And your graduation,” she continued. Now she sounded overly polite too. And definitely not like we had done what we did in her bedroom this morning. 

“Thanks. Have fun in Switzerland.” I said in an attempt to think of something else. 

Her mouth twitched slightly at that, but she never the less thanked me. 

“I’m....” the courage deserted me for a second and I bit my lip instead of finishing the sentence. 

“Yes?” she encouraged. She was still looking out of the window, but she looked a bit distant. Like she wasn’t really seeing anything. 

“I’m going to miss you.” My voice dropped to a whisper at the admittance. I feared she would go forward with her “there is no “us””-talk again. 

But instead of getting angry, Greta turned her head and gave me a sideway glance. 

“I’ve enjoyed your company more than I should,” she said plainly. 

Another cryptic remark. But I didn’t get much time to wonder about it. To my utter surprise, Greta reached out and took my hand. Her long, cold fingers entwined with mine. 

My spirit soared at that. I refuse to believe she doesn’t feel the same for me as I feel for her. Even if she has never said anything. 

As quickly as she had taken my hand, she let go of it again and shot a glance out of the window. “I do believe your friend is waiting for you.” 

“Hmm?” I followed her gaze out of the window, and Michelle was indeed standing on the porch. I was positive she hadn’t seen Greta hold my hand, but I was sure she was wondering what was taking me   
so long. 

“Right.” I said. I couldn’t postpone it anymore. So instead of torturing myself further, I opened the car door. My duffel bag ended up on the ground with a soft thud, and I quickly stuck one leg out to   
follow it out of the car. 

“And Céline?” Greta suddenly said when I was half-way out of the car. 

“Yeah?” I twisted my upper body slightly to look back at her. 

“Take care of yourself.” She said. 

“You too,” I smiled. 

She returned the smile. “Goodbye.” 

“See you later,” I corrected. This wasn’t a goodbye. “You promised to celebrate with me, remember?” 

“So I did.” Greta nodded. 

“Will you call me when you get back from Switzerland?” I asked hopefully.

Greta’s answer to that was vague, and instead she asked: “where would you like to for this... Celebration?” 

I chuckled. “Why don’t you let me worry about that? Let me take you out for a change.” 

That elicited an amused smile from her. “You’re asking me out, miss Welles?” 

“Yeah. That’s exactly what I’m doing,” I grinned nervously. 

“Very well. That should be interesting.”

The grin never left my face, but my eyebrow rose in confusion. I was pretty sure that “asking her out” was against the rules she had set up for us. Why did she suddenly just go with it? And more importantly, why did I care about the reasons? 

Her going along with it just meant that she wasn’t rejecting me. And I should just be pleased about that. Not ask questions. 

On the porch, Michelle was shuffling impatiently. 

“Right. I should...” 

“Yes.” Greta nodded. 

“See you,” I grinned. 

“Mhmm,” Greta drawled, and then she quickly reached out of the window and patted my hand once. 

She left no other greeting. She simply turned the car around and left. 

Despite our agreement to see each other when she got back. I still felt slightly depressed as I watched her drive away. A month was a long time. And I didn’t have words to describe how much I was gonna miss her during that time. 

“Celine!” Michelle called from the porch. 

I quickly snapped out of it and grabbed the duffel bag. I found a smile and plastered it to my face as I walked towards my friend.

“Finally!” Michelle said and puffed out air. As soon as I was within reach, she hugged me tightly. “I’ve been so fucking worried about you!” 

“I’ve been fine.” 

“Yeah, I know, but your mom has left me like 700 messages since I got my nose out of the books, ugh!” Michelle said and wrinkled her nose slightly. 

“She and I are currently working through some stuff,” I said a bit formally and then fake laughed. “I mean, I couldn’t exactly stay at home when she was like that...”

Michelle shook her head. “God, I feel so awful about not being there when you needed it.” 

“It’s fine,” I assured her. 

“Was it okay staying with Greta?” Michelle asked. “I mean, you don’t know her that well.” 

I pretended to be busy with my duffel bag. I was sure my cheeks had turned crimson. “Yeah, it was alright,” I said half-heartedly. “It was very nice of her to let me sleep on her couch.” 

Ha. You slept on her couch for one night. 

“Have you told her about what happened with you and your mom?” Michelle asked as we went inside the quiet house. Her mom was probably out. 

Hell yeah. She helped me clean the cut. “Mhmm, I have.” I confirmed. 

“Damn it, Welles,” Michelle said and shook her head again. “Your mom’s always been a piece of work but going as far as hitting you.” 

“Yes, that took me by surprise too,” I nodded. “I don’t think I’m going back to the house for a while.” 

“I can totally understand that,” Michelle said. “I’ve talked to my mom. You can stay here for as long as you like. Mom was fucking furious when I told her what happened...” 

I laughed. I could imagine that. Michelle’s mom didn’t tolerate any type of injustice. It was nice to know she was on “my” side in this. 

“So, I was thinking of calling Hannah and have a girl’s night tomorrow after that last test.” Michelle said briskly as we walked upstairs to her room. “We deserve that before having to deal with graduation   
and all that.” 

“That sounds great,” I smiled and dumped my bag on the makeshift bed in her room. I could do girls night. I could totally do girls night. 

Maybe hanging with Michelle and Hannah would be enough to distract me and prevent me from silently counting the days until Greta came back from Switzerland. 

“You know what, screw it, I’ll call her right now instead,” Michelle said. “It’s better to plan our night now.” 

I chuckled, but then I blinked in faux surprise. “Why are you suddenly so eager to have a girl’s night, Michelle? What happened to Steve?” 

“Urgh, don’t mention his name,” Michelle said, and her mouth twisted. “He turned out to be a complete asshole!” 

“No way,” I said and tried to sound genuinely surprised. “I thought he was The One?” 

Michelle rolled her eyes. “A little miscalculation on my behalf, I’m afraid. He’s a jerk. Had to dump him.” 

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry to hear that.” 

She shrugged lightly and flicked a lock of her dark hair behind her ear. “I’ll get over it. He aint worth it. There’s plenty of other fish in the sea.” 

“Right you are.” 

“Plenty of other guys out there,” she continued and then she chuckled. “And if that fails, there’s plenty of girls too.” 

My mouth fell open with a pop and I stared at her. 

“I’m kidding!” Michelle laughed. “But the look on your face was totally worth it.” 

“Right.” 

“Why don’t you save your laptop from the depths of that duffel bag while I find us something ridiculously greasy and unhealthy to eat?” she said, and with that she left the room. 

I shook my head as I digged my computer out of my duffel bag. As I opened the laptop, I could see there was a new comment on my blog, so I quickly opened the blog to see what that was about. 

The comment was written underneath my newest review of Titanic, and it simply said:

“Make sure you don’t board any boats in the near future.”

I chuckled. Normally, I would have considered this to be a trolling comment, but obviously not when I knew full well who had written the comment. 

I was still smiling when Michelle came back with a bag of chips. 

“Uhh... Thanks,” I said when she threw it straight at me.

“No problem,” she snickered. “Anything interesting on the computer?” 

“Nope. But....” I quickly checked my phone. “My mother has called me fifteen times today.” 

Michelle made a face. “Are you gonna call her back?” 

“Probably not. Not right now at least.” But at some point, she and I would have to sit down and discuss certain things. Ignoring her calls wasn’t gonna fix anything. We would have to talk about things.   
Including Greta. Not that my mother really deserved an explanation, but maybe I was ready to talk about Greta. 

Maybe I didn’t want her to be a secret anymore. 

Maybe she didn’t have to be a secret anymore. 

She had agreed to let me take her out. That had to mean something. She did feel something for me. I was sure of that. It wasn’t just one sided, and she definitely wasn’t just my “teacher” anymore. 

She mattered. And I wanted people to know that. 

But most of all, I wanted her to know that. I wanted her to know how fucking much she meant to me. 

I absentmindedly opened the bag of chips and stuffed one into my mouth. A month was such a long time to wait.


	35. Chapter Thirty Five

My transition from living on Greta’s houseboat to living at Michelle’s place was tougher than I had imagined. 

Not because living with Michelle was bad in any way, quite the opposite. Both she and her mother were great. Unlike my mother, Michelle’s mom, Diane, supported her daughter in everything, and even though she never badmouthed my mother, I could tell that she was fuming over what had happened. 

Michelle and Diane wasn’t the problem. I was. 

I missed Greta. 

And I missed her to a point where it was ridiculous. 

I tried to ignore it, I really did. I dedicated myself to studying until the very last minute. Then Michelle and I drove to the school and took that last test. Which actually wasn’t that difficult. I knew most of the answers. Disappearing into “study land” had paid off. I felt pretty confident once the test was done. My grades wouldn’t be half bad. Now I just needed to graduate. No biggie. Not at all. 

But graduation wasn’t the only thing on my mind. 

It began exactly twenty four hours after I had said “see you later” to her in the car. The gnawing feeling low in my stomach that made me aware of how much I missed her. How much I had gotten used to   
being around her for those five, incredible days. How important she had become to me. 

I had never felt like this with anyone. No one had awakened these kind of feelings in me before, and now, when Greta was 12 hours away, I didn’t quite know what to do with myself. I kept thinking back to the nights and mornings we had spent in her bed. The showers we had taken. Her soft fingers on my skin. Her lips against mine. There was nothing I could do about it, really. My brain had fixated on the channel called “Greta”. 

I’d had some sort of naïve hope that she would call me. At least once. Just to say hi. But she didn’t. I didn’t hear anything from her. Not a peep. 

That worried me a little. She had seemed slightly aloof in the car. Not in the way she had been the previous morning, just a tiny, imperceptible switch in her mood. 

It would be very easy for her to put that barrier up between us when she was in Geneva and I was here. 

I was also beginning to wonder. That had happened on the fourth day at Michelle’s. Long after Michelle had fallen asleep, I had lied awake in my makeshift bed and wondered. What was in Geneva? What was Greta doing when she was there? I knew she was born there and had spent ten years of her life there, but I still wondered.

Maybe she has a husband there.

I scoffed, and my stomach churned uncomfortably at that. No. No, she doesn’t. She’s not married. She said so. 

A kid then. Maybe there’s a little mini Greta running around in Geneva. 

I stared up at the ceiling. And what mother would set up a life in Seattle and leave their kid in another country? 

Nope, I didn’t buy that either. I suspected that my own mother was capable of just about anything, but I didn’t for a second believe that Greta was like that. And besides, what would possibly be the reason for her to leave her kid in Geneva while she herself lived in Seattle? 

In my mind, there was no justifiable reason to pull a stunt like that. 

And if she had a child, it had to had come up at some point during all our encounters, right? 

But Greta had no baby pictures or drawings done by a child lying around anywhere. 

And she had told me that her grandfather was the only one she had until he died. 

No, there was no secret husband. 

No hidden child running around in Geneva. 

So it had to be something else. Another reason for her frequent trips to Switzerland. But what? 

What was in Geneva? 

It didn’t matter how much and how long I wracked my brain, I still came up empty. I couldn’t for the life of me think of any reason at all. And maybe I just had a poor imagination, that was possible, but it still remained an unsolved mystery that kept me awake at night. 

Of course, that little mystery alone wasn’t enough to ruin my sleep schedule. Now that I wasn’t with Greta anymore, my nightmares returned in full force, and almost every night, I dreamt of the car   
collision. Of metal smashing into metal and the way my car ended up standing facing the other way. The sirens. The ambulance drivers saying my name again and again and ordering me to stay awake. 

I didn’t know much about what would happen after graduation, but maybe I would re-start therapy again. That much was certain. 

It was my mother who had arranged the therapy sessions, but it was also her who had decided that I didn’t needed it anymore. Her only excuse for that had been that “news travels fast”. I couldn’t be sure what that meant, but I had a hunch that it meant that her she hadn’t been interested in having her hotshot colleagues know that I needed therapy. It was embarrassing. And probably humiliating for her. A   
problem she couldn’t fix with surgery.

Whatever. I didn’t care anymore. I was done playing by my mother’s rules. It felt a little strange, breaking away from her like I was doing now. 

It felt weird, knowing that I wouldn’t be upset if I didn’t see her anytime soon. Or ever again. That was probably really dramatic and teenage-y, but that was genuinely how I felt. I would be perfectly fine if 

I didn’t have to see her for a good while. 

And for right now, I tried to be satisfied with staying at Michelle’s, and not let Greta consume my thoughts too much. 

If that was even possible. 

It probably wasn’t, but I could still try, right? I could still make an effort and express my gratitude towards Michelle and her mom. 

I could still smile whenever Michelle, Hannah and I went out for “girls’ night” or hung out at Michelle’s. Which we did a lot. And all three of us were excited and looking forward to graduation day. 

Hannah looked forward to getting her diploma, the key to her future. Michelle looked forward to “getting wasted at the afterparty.” 

And as for me, looked forward to seeing Greta again. Everything else had just been shoved back. Getting my diploma barely mattered anymore. I was looking more forward to seeing Greta than actually graduating. 

I wasn’t too sure about the afterparty. Michelle would probably beg me to come, but I wasn’t too sure. 

I couldn’t exactly say that I was having dinner with my mother. That was out of the question.

Maybe I should just say that I was tired from studying. That wasn’t a lie. 

Speaking of lying, I didn’t like lying to my friends, and at some point, I had to tell them the truth. I didn’t really know how to do that. It was one thing telling them that I had fallen in love with a woman, it was another thing to reveal that that woman was Greta. The age gap between us didn’t bother me in the slightest, but it was possible that it would bother Michelle and Hannah. 

I knew the old saying about “the truth will set you free”, but if I revealed one truth, they would ask questions, and more truths were forced to come out. 

There was Greta’s job. I definitely couldn’t tell them that.

And there was the teeny tiny detail about me being seventeen when me and Greta’s “relationship” started. Hannah and Michelle would probably freak out if I told them that. 

No, I couldn’t tell them that. I knew that much. 

 

 

“That was fun!” Michelle proclaimed as all three of us plopped down on her bed. 

“Yeah it was,” I agreed. 

“But my feet will never be the same,” Hannah declared tragically and wiggled one foot in the air. “The next time we’re going dancing, I’m not gonna wear high heels.” 

Both Michelle and I grimaced at that. We wholeheartedly agreed. High heels were definitely not made for the kind of dancing we had done at that bar. Bar. What were we thinking of? Going out for drinks a week before graduation. 

My phone vibrated, and I rolled my eyes as I quickly checked who it was. 

“Your mom again?” Michelle asked and took a bite of the chocolate she had bought on her way home. 

“Yeah, she’s not giving up. I’m surprised she hasn’t showed up here yet. And give me some of that,” I said as I reached for the chocolate. 

“I’m pretty sure my mom would give her a piece of her mind if she did,” Michelle half-chuckled as she handed me a piece of the chocolate. 

“Right.” I made a face again. “That would probably be ugly to witness.” 

“Why didn’t you give that guy your number?” Hannah asked. She was less polite and simply snatched a piece of chocolate out of Michelle’s hand. 

“Hey!” Michelle protested and glared at her. 

Hannah just shrugged and turned her attention back to me: “It was pretty obvious that he liked you.” 

“And he looked good too,” Michelle chirped in. 

“Mmm,” I said noncommittally. I wasn’t blind, I knew that the guy we had met at the bar had liked me and had in fact been good looking. 

But he wasn’t Greta. And the idea of seeing someone that wasn’t her was harrowing. 

My loyalty was most definitely lying with her. 

“Maybe that’s exactly what you need to get over Allen,” Hannah said and wiggled her ankle slightly.

Allen? Oh, right. That’s what Hannah and Michelle thought. That I was still upset about the breakup with Allen. And I didn’t know how to tell them the truth: that I hadn’t thought of Allen in months. 

“I’m not really up for dating,” I said. That was only a halfhearted lie. Greta and I hadn’t been on a date. Not really. Not yet anyway. 

“A shame,” Michelle said. “He was cute.” 

“Mmm, he was.” I nodded and grinned. “Maybe you should ask him out.” 

“He only had eyes for you.” Michelle scoffed and adopted a more joking tone as she continued: “Unfortunately. He was really hot.” 

“You were depressed about Steve two days ago,” Hannah deadpanned. 

“Mmm. I need to move on with someone new.” 

Hannah sighed deeply as she flopped back on the bed. “I can’t keep up, Chellie.” 

“Neither can I,” I teased. 

“Hey! I’m not that bad!” Michelle protested as she balled up the chocolate paper and threw it at me. 

“What a cheap trick,” I said unimpressed as I threw the balled paper back at her. As opposed to her, I actually hit my target. 

“Hey!” she protested again. 

“Don’t start a war if you can’t end it,” I teased. 

Hannah yawned loudly. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m beat.”

“Is that code for “screw you guys, I’m going home”?” Michelle sassed. 

“Yep. That’s exactly what it is,” Hannah said as she pushed herself up from the bed. “See you later.” 

“Bye! Be careful to cycle in the right side of the road,” Michelle teased. 

“Shut up. I didn’t have that much to drink.” 

Both Michelle and I chuckled as she went down the stairs. We heard her say goodbye to Michelle’s mother downstairs, and a second later, we heard the faint jingle of car keys being lifted from the table. It   
would appear that Diane was driving Hannah home instead of letting her cycle. 

That was probably for the best anyway. 

Michelle hid a yawn behind her hand. “She’s not the only one who’s beat.” 

I hummed in agreement. “Maybe going out was a bad idea.” 

“No way! We’re warming up to the afterparty, remember?” 

“Right.” I muttered. I still need to find a way to tell them I’m not coming. 

“The room’s spinning,” Michelle commented a bit out of nowhere. 

“You’re drunk, Lawson,” I informed her. 

“No way!” Michelle said again. 

I raised an eyebrow. 

“Well, so are you, Welles!” she retorted. 

“No way,” I laughed. But she absolutely had a point. I could see the room spinning too. And quite a lot, actually. 

Michelle suddenly leapt off the bed, surprisingly fast for someone who was drunk. “First one to the bathroom!” she yelled and then raced off. 

“Hey, that is so unfair!” I retorted as I tried to get up from the bed. “You can’t just call shots when you’re halfway there already!” 

Michelle quickly fell into a dead-like slumber the minute her head hit the pillow, and it didn’t take long before sleep claimed me too. 

But my plan about sleeping didn’t really go as planned. After what felt like too little time, I woke abruptly. My heart was pounding violently in my chest, and the sound of screeching tires and sirens were   
still echoing in my head. 

I sat up and drew my knees up until I could rest my forehead on them. My heart was hammering away in my chest and I panted as I tried to breathe normally. Not another panic attack, not another panic   
attack. I lifted my head and rubbed a hand over my forehead. It was sweaty. Every part of me was sweaty. That was one of the worst dreams I’d had in a while. 

Michelle was still asleep. Thankfully. It was bad enough that my nightmares was waking me. It shouldn’t have to wake her, too. 

The clock radio on her nightstand said 4:00. I had slept longer than I thought. But I was most definitely too rattled to go back to sleep now. As to stress that out, my heart thumped too loudly in my chest   
and I could feel how the sweat trickled down my back. 

I tried the methods that was supposed to work when you had a panic attack, but obviously, it didn’t work tonight. 

I needed....

I needed to talk to the one person who always made me feel calm. 

I looked at the clock radio again. 4:00. Then it was 10:00 in Switzerland. And assuming that I knew enough about Greta and routines, I knew that she would be awake now. 

I quietly slipped out of bed and found my phone in the pocket of my hoodie. I was being extra cautious as I crossed the floor. One of the floorboards were creaking, and I wasn’t interested in waking the whole house. 

But Michelle remained fast asleep. And she probably would be until sometime late tomorrow. Even I still felt dizzy, and Michelle definitely had more to drink than I.

I crept downstairs, and I was probably still drunk, for instead of sitting down on the couch like normal people would do, I ended up sitting on the porch outside. The cold, autumnal breeze actually felt   
good on my overheated skin. 

Then I began tapping in Greta’s number. I already felt pessimistic before I had even pressed “call”. 

I definitely had very little expectation when it came to actually reach her. I was pretty sure the only thing I would reach was her voicemail. 

But maybe that was enough. Maybe hearing her voice alone would be enough to make me feel calm again. 

I brought the phone up to my ear and waited. Dialing tone. I waited, fully prepared to be greeted by: “You’ve reached the voicemail of Greta Adams”, bla, bla, bla. 

Dialing tone. 

Silence. 

Dialing tone. 

More silence. 

Bring on the voicemail already. I just want to hear her voice. I’m sure that will be enough. I hoped it would be enough. Maybe I would leave her message. I could do that, right? That wasn’t against the rules, was it? 

Not that I cared much about the rules now, but still, I had to pretend like I did. 

Dialing tone. 

Come on, just give me that fucking voicemail already. God, what is wrong with this fucking phone?! Why can’t it just to this relatively simple thing? Seriously, I’m not asking much here. Switzerland is not some unreachable country that doesn’t... 

“Greta Adams speaking.” 

I damn nearly dropped the phone in sheer surprise at hearing her husky, “out of breath”- voice. Had I actually managed to get a hold of her? That seemed like quite the accomplishment. 

“Hello? Who am I talking to?” 

“It’s.... It’s me,” I croaked and pulled myself together. 

“Miss Welles.” She said. 

“Why don’t you have my number in your phone?” I blurted out and asked the first thing that came to mind. I couldn’t help but feel slightly hurt that she didn’t recognize my number. 

“I didn’t realize that was a necessity,” Greta said a bit curtly. “To what do I owe the pleasure so early?” 

“It’s not early in Geneva.” 

“No, but it is however early in Seattle,” she said smoothly. “Shouldn’t you be in bed safe and soundly?” 

I giggled at that. Now she sounded like a schoolteacher again. 

“I woke up because of a nightmare and had to talk to you.” 

“Weren’t your friend around?” 

“Mmm, she was. But I would rather talk to you. You make me feel calm.” 

There was silence in the other end, and then she said: “Céline, are you drunk?” 

“Maybe a little bit,” I chuckled. 

“Ah. Now things suddenly makes sense.” Greta said. “And a week before graduation, really?” 

I ignored last part of her sentence. “Why? You think I’m just overly attached to you when I’m drunk?” 

She didn’t answer that. Of course she didn’t. Instead she said: “What was your nightmare about then?” 

“Huh?” I said a bit distracted. 

“Your nightmare. What was it about?” she repeated very slowly, and I could hear some shuffling around in the other end. 

“Oh, uhm....” I frowned for a second. What was my nightmare about? “I can’t remember,” I said a bit awestruck. “That worked fast. You’re amazing.” 

“Yes, so I’ve been told,” Greta said smoothly. “Well, if you can’t remember your nightmare, then I suppose there’s no reason for...” 

“No, wait!” I protested. “I want to keep talking to you!” 

“Why? You’re fine.” 

“But I’m better when I’m around you.” My intoxicated brain wasn’t exactly controlling what came out of my mouth, and for a moment I feared that I had overstepped a line. 

But Greta’s only response was to laugh huskily. “Miss Welles, you’re not around me right now.” 

“Yes, I am,” I protested. “Kinda, anyway.” 

“You’re drunk.” Greta stated plainly. 

“Yeah, I am.” I said nonchalant. “Is that a crime?” 

“Strictly speaking, yes. Yes, it is.” 

“Fine. Whatever. What are you doing right now?” oh my god, what if she has some secret, rich client in Geneva she visits often? 

“I’m hold up in a place I’ve got no desire to be in at the moment.” 

“Huh?” 

“Never you mind,” Greta said. “What are you doing yourself?” 

“I’m sitting on Michelle’s porch,” I informed her. 

“That’s a foolish thing to do. You’ll end up catching a cold. Or something worse.” 

“Are you worried about me?” 

She ignored that. “Please tell me you’re dressed warmly.” 

I looked down at my “tanktop and boy shorts”-attire. “Well...” 

“Get inside the house, miss Welles.” 

“But it’s nice out here,” I protested. “I can see all the stars.” 

“I seriously doubt that you can, but the sentiment is very sweet.” 

I laughed at her dry way of saying it. “You sound exactly like Lauren Baccall. Did you know that?” 

It was Greta’s turn to laugh dryly at that. “No, I don’t believe anyone has ever told me that.” 

“No? Oh well. But you do.” 

“I’m not sure I like the idea of you being outside when you’re this drunk, miss Welles.” 

“So you are worried about me.” 

She sighed deeply. “And with good reason, it seems.”

“I miss you,” I murmured quietly. 

“Don’t say that,” Greta said immediately. 

“Right, right. You don’t like me saying that, I know,” I grumbled. “Are you mad that I called you?” 

“Mad?” she repeated quietly. “No, I’m not mad, miss Welles. 

“Don’t call me that, please.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because...” because when you say that, it sounds like you’re trying to distance yourself from me. And I don’t want you to do that.

“Because what?” 

“I like when you use my first name,” I mumbled. 

“Very well then, Céline. Don’t you think it’s about time you went back to bed?” 

“Why? Do you need to be somewhere else?” 

She laughed dryly. “No, not at the moment. But the weather in Seattle is grey and foggy. I don’t want you to catch a cold.” 

“Right.” 

“It would be a shame if you got sick for your graduation. Or for our date.” 

She might have said the word sarcastically, but it still filled my chest with warmth. She wasn’t going back on our deal. We were still on when she got back. Thank god.

“Okay,” I said and felt every bit uplifted. “I’ll go back to bed. It was nice to hear your voice.” 

“Goodnight, Céline.” 

“Goodnight then. I’ll see you when you get back.” 

“Indeed you will.” 

“I love you.” 

Wait, what?! WHAT? What the fuck did I just say?! Oh god, I did NOT just tell her. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. 

“G-Greta?” I stammered. 

Silence in the other end. 

I exhaled roughly at that. Thank god. She hadn’t heard me. She had already ended the call when those three little, forbidden words slipped out of me. 

This was most definitely my cue to go back to bed. This could have had catastrophic consequences. 

You’re fucking drunk, Welles, I informed myself as I left the porch and wobbled back upstairs. Michelle was still fast asleep. That was probably a good thing. 

I slipped back in bed. My head was spinning, and my stomach was churning uncomfortably, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t because of the alcohol anymore. It was because of the drunken confession I just had made over the phone. 

Thank fucking god Greta hadn’t heard me. If there was a god out there, he or she had definitely been with me tonight, that was certain. 

I smiled a little to myself as I tried to go back to sleep. Greta had been worried about me. She hadn’t wanted me to catch a cold. She had actually been worried. That felt good to know. Hearing her voice   
had felt good. Even if I couldn’t remember the reason I had called her in the first place, it had been amazing to hear her voice. She hadn’t been brusque this time. And she had mentioned our date. She   
hadn’t forgotten, and she wasn’t trying to back out. That made me very happy. 

We should go up in the Great Wheel. I couldn’t afford a fancy meal at Hotel Ballard or whatever, but I could invite her to join me in Seattle’s famous Ferris wheel. And that was exactly what I was planning on doing. That seemed like a very date-like date thing to do. And I wanted a normal date.

And I wanted her to know how I felt about her. But not over the fucking phone. That was such a ridiculous thing to blurt out, Welles. 

I once again thanked my rare lucky star that she hadn’t heard me. That really was fucking lucky. I craned my neck slightly and looked at Michelle’s clock radio. 4:25. I really needed to go back to sleep. 

But now I couldn’t sleep. My thoughts were swirling around Greta again. 

Why didn’t I ask her what’s in Geneva? Why didn’t I probe a bit? 

Uhh, because she probably wouldn’t have answered. That’s one of her favorite tactics. Ignoring the question. 

Oh, well. She would have to answer when she got back. And she would have to come up with some real answers. Not just some half-cooked explanations. 

How I missed her. I had been staying at Michelle’s for four days. Only four days. How was I supposed to get through the rest of the time remaining? 

Maybe I could call her again. Maybe she wouldn’t mind that. Or maybe I could text her? Can I afford sending text messages to Europe? 

Nope, probably not. 

I curled up under the duvets. I really needed to get some sleep before I made any more drunken confessions. 

It took me a while to fall asleep, but when I finally did, I dreamt of her.I dreamt of her looking back at me and smiling. And I dreamt of her holding me in her arms as I   
drifted off to sleep. 

Dreams were free. She couldn’t protest against the content of my dreams, even if they did violate her “rules”. 

Fuck the rules. To hell with the rules. I couldn’t care less about her rules. Not anymore.

It wasn’t the first time I dreamt of Greta, and it most certainly wouldn’t be the last one either. For all I cared, she could haunt my dreams forever. 

I would be perfectly satisfied with that. 

I could find a way to be near her, even if she wasn’t here. How clever was that? 

At 6:30 I woke up, soberer and with pink cheeks because I was sure I had just said her name out loud. 

But luckily, there was no harm done. Michelle was still fast asleep in her bed. 

I had never appreciated her ability to sleep more than I did right now. 

Maybe I should just sleep on the couch for the rest of the time being. Sleeping here was dangerous. I couldn’t even trust my fucking mouth anymore. 

With a heavy sigh, I went back to sleep. Maybe I should put tape over my mouth or something. 

That would definitely be one way to keep myself quiet. 

Because stop dreaming of Greta was not an option. 

It was definitely not an option.


	36. Chapter Thirty Six

“Can you believe that we’re actually graduating tomorrow?” Michelle asked as she tipped the yellow hat, so it sat slightly crooked on her head.

“No, I really, really can’t.” I answered. “Are you sure you should be trying that on already? isn’t that to jinx it or something like that?”

“Why would it be?” Michelle chuckled. “There’s nothing more I can do anyway, so...” she spun around and made the yellow graduation gown billow behind her. 

I snickered. I couldn’t believe we were graduating tomorrow. It felt like the end of an era. It was probably a huge cliché, but I felt completely different from the Celine who had started her last year in high school. So much had changed. My panic attacks had lessened, and I had finally begun writing. I had rejected Harvard and the future my mother had laid out for me. 

I was definitely not the same person as I was back then. 

“Do you think your mom is gonna show up tomorrow?” Michelle asked as she stretched out on the bed like a cat. 

“Honestly? I have no idea,” I said. 

“Sure you won’t get upset if she’s not there?” 

“I don’t think so,” I shrugged. “There has just been too much crap between us, you know?” 

“Mmm.” Michelle said. 

I looked at my computer and wondered whether to write a bit more. Writing about Greta had broken some sort of dam, and now I couldn’t stop writing. The words were finally flowing after being effectively held back by my mother for such a long time. 

But before I got the chance to dive into my writing wonderland, my phone chimed, and I was already expecting some half-angry text from my mother. 

But it wasn’t my mother. 

To my utter surprise it was Greta. I hadn’t expected to hear from her, but now she was texting me, asking me what our plans were for when she got back. 

Our. I smiled at that as I texted back and told her about my “Big Wheel”-plan. I had already bought tickets for us.

Her response were exactly as her answer would have been if she was here. I could almost hear her drawling voice ask me if I weren’t afraid of heights. 

I quickly texted her back that I wasn’t. Not even in the slightest. And then I grew a bit bold and asked if she were. 

Her response? “Don’t be ridiculous, Céline.” 

I chuckled at that. No, of course not. Of course she wasn’t afraid of heights. Greta didn’t strike me as the type who was afraid of anything, really. Imagine being so confident all the time. What a luxury that   
would be. 

“What are you laughing about?”

My head snapped up at Michelle’s voice. “Nothing.” 

“Nothing?” she echoed skeptically. “Who are you texting?” 

“No one.” 

“No one.” Michelle said completely flatly. “Right.” 

I quickly stuffed the phone away again. 

“What’s his name?” Michelle asked casually as she took the graduation cap off and shook her dark hair. 

“Who?” I asked and played the innocent. 

“No one,” Michelle said sarcastically and made quotation marks with her fingers. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Is it Allen?” Michelle continued. “Are you guys back together?” 

“No. No-no.” I quickly assured her. “I haven’t heard from him at all since the breakup.” 

“So who?” Michelle insisted. “Seriously, if you’ve met someone, give me the chance to be happy for you.” 

But before I could come up with some brilliant excuse, our conversation were interrupted by Hannah calling Michelle. Our friend was in a frenzy. She couldn’t decide which black dress to wear underneath her graduation gown tomorrow, and she desperately needed help to decide. 

Michelle advised her to “get her ass over here with both of the dresses.” 

Hannah took that advise, and it didn’t take long before she barged into Michelle’s room. With both of the dresses. The first option was your traditional, modest black dress. It was a bit conservative with its   
high neckline, but I was too diplomatic to tell her that. 

Michelle however, was not. 

“Boring!” she sing-songed. “Next.” 

Both Hannah and I rolled our eyes, and Hannah quickly changed into option two: a tighter black dress with a more pronounced neckline. 

“Wear that one,” Michelle said. “It makes your ass look great.” 

“Seriously?” Hannah scowled. 

“It’s the truth,” Michelle shrugged. “You look great. Doesn’t she, Celine?” 

“You do.” I told Hannah and smiled. “I would wear that one if I were you.”

“It’ll be perfect for the afterparty!” Michelle said briskly. 

Oh, right. The afterparty. I have to go to that... I couldn’t exactly weasel my way out of going to the afterparty. Shit. 

“What about you, Welles?” Michelle asked and turned her attention to me as Hannah shimmied out of the dress.

“What about me?” 

“What are you gonna wear for the graduation party?” 

I tried not to grimace and took a breath. “I haven’t really decided yet,” I said halfheartedly. I didn’t have the heart to tell them that I had actually planned on skipping the afterparty.

“It’s tomorrow, Welles,” Michelle said disbelievingly. 

“I know that. I’ll think of something, okay?” 

Hannah suddenly looked nervous. Most likely because of all the talk about graduation. 

“I’m getting a sudden urge to consume a whole pizza.” She announced. “Who’s with me?” 

“Count me in,” Michelle said. “Welles?” 

“Pizza sounds good. As long as it’s without pineapples.” 

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with pineapple pizza!” Hannah protested. 

“I don’t understand how you can eat it,” I teased. 

“It tastes good!” 

“And people say I’m the weird one of us,” Michelle deadpanned. 

“Stop ganging up on me,” Hannah huffed. 

Michelle and I laughed. And I felt every bit grateful over the sudden change of subject. 

I really couldn’t tell them that I didn’t want to go to the afterparty. I didn’t want to tell them that I was completely beat after studying. I had to go. We had been talking about the graduation party for   
months, and I couldn’t exactly tell them that I would rather stay home and worry about what to wear for my “date” with Greta. Oh god, what was I gonna wear for my date with Greta? 

I hadn’t really thought about that. 

At all. Shit.

Going out to have pizza took my attention away from the upcoming graduation party and clothing decisions, 

But unfortunately, only until we got back. As soon as we got back in Michelle’s room, her and Hannah started talking about the party again. 

I stayed quiet for my part, once again wondering what to wear, but eventually, Hannah stopped trying to explain to Michelle why she absolutely could not wear her gold see through dress underneath her graduation gown, and her attention turned to me.

“What about you, Celine? Are you ready for the party?” 

“Mhmm,” I said half-heartedly, and I was painfully aware that I didn’t sound very convincing. My mind was not at all in it.

“You don’t sound too excited,” Hannah said, and her brow furrowed in concern. “Is this about your mom?” 

“No-no, I’m not letting her have that kind of power over me anymore,” I joked. “It’s just... Nervous about graduating. That’s all.” 

“I get that,” Michelle nodded and chuckled. “But imagine this: after tomorrow, you’ll never have to deal with high school again. Doesn’t that sound too fucking good to be true?” she continued and kicked   
her shoes off as she flopped down on my makeshift bed. 

Thud. The movement made my bag drop to the floor and I shook my head as a couple of my socks and one of my shirts ended up on the bedroom floor. 

“Oops,” Michelle said. 

“Hmm, turns out you’re not the weird one after all. You’re the clumsy one,” Hannah smirked. 

Michelle glared at her. “It was just an accident, Jesus. I’ll fix it.” she elegantly slinked off the bed and started gathering the items that had hopped out of my bag. 

“There.” she huffed when she stuffed my shirt and socks back into my duffel bag. “All do...” 

She ran out of words and I raised an eyebrow. Silence was not a part of Michelle’s personality. I stretched my neck to see what she was doing. Maybe she had chipped one of her newly manicured nails or   
something like that. Or maybe she had just learned that she was sitting on a spider. 

But as I looked down on the floor, she was sitting crouched over something. A drawing. No, a painting.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. I swear I could hear a pin drop as we both stared at the painting of Greta, Michelle had just found uncovered as she stuffed my t-shirt back into the duffel bag. 

The heat flared up and colored my cheeks crimson, and for a split second Michelle just gaped. I could almost see the wheels in her head turning.

But before she could actually say anything, Hannah interrupted and said: “Uhh, guys? What the hell are you doing? What exactly are we staring at?” 

To my horror, she too crouched down on the floor and looked at the drawing. I wanted to open my mouth and tell them that the drawing wasn’t meant for their eyes, but I couldn’t get my voice to obey. 

Not a sound came out when I opened my mouth and tried to protest. My brain had literally short circuited on me. Normally, that only happened because of Greta, and I guess you could say she was the indirect cause for it this time too. 

“Holy...” Hannah said. She looked exactly as shell-shocked as I felt. “Is this... Is that Greta?” 

It’s the eyes, I told myself. It was the eyes that made the younger version of Greta identifiable. I doubted anyone were capable of ever forgetting Greta’s eyes. 

“Celine?” Michelle asked quietly as she carefully stuffed the drawing back into my duffel bag. 

“I...” my voice cracked, and I quickly cleared my throat. “Yes, that’s Greta.” I confirmed, and my voice was thinner than I had ever heard it before. I sounded like I did when I had just woken up after the   
surgery on my legs. 

“Why do you have this picture?” Michelle asked, and I could see that the wheels in her head were spinning. 

“I uh....” I rubbed the back of my neck obviously. “She... She gave it to me.” that wasn’t a lie. 

“Why did she do that?” Hannah asked and raised an eyebrow. “Not exactly a normal graduation present.” 

“No, I...” I swallowed. My throat felt as dry as the Sahara dessert. You can’t exactly explain this one away, Welles. 

“I’ve kinda been.... seeing her...” I muttered quietly, and my gaze dropped to the floor again. 

But however hushed I might have spoken, both Hannah and Michelle heard me, and I could feel both of them staring at me. 

“Come again?” Michelle said and the surprised colored her voice. 

My eyes snapped up, but I wasn’t quite brave enough to actually look her in the eye. “I think you heard me the first time around,” I mumbled. 

“You’ve been seeing Greta?” Hannah said and echoed my hushed confession. 

“Yes.” 

“Greta as in... Greta?” Michelle said, and I wouldn’t be surprised if her jaw detached from her skull. 

“Do you know anyone else with that name?” I said and tried to joke around with the whole thing, but my throat was still dry as sandpaper. 

“Holy shit.” Michelle said plainly. 

I bit my lip. 

“I knew there was something, but I just couldn’t figure out what it was,” Hannah said. “How long has this been going on?” 

“Since early May. Ish.” If you include the first time at Hotel Ballard.

“Since May?!” Michelle cried. “You’ve been seeing her since May?!” 

“On and off,” I pathetically tried to defend myself, but then deflated: I didn’t know how to tell you, okay!” And Greta wasn’t particularly interested in other people knowing. Shit. I have to tell her that my friends know. Oh god. 

“How old is she?” Hannah asked. 

I grimaced. Of course that was the next question. “She’s thirty....four.” I muttered half-heartedly. 

Hannah and Michelle looked at me. They were surprised, that was for sure, but none of them looked judgmental in any way. 

“Soooo, I’m guessing you didn’t sleep on the couch during the five days you were there? ” Michelle asked and quirked an eyebrow at me. 

I blushed crimson again. Right. I did say I slept on the couch, didn’t I? Damn it. 

“I didn’t,” I admitted. I slept in her bed. And it was amazing.

“Damn.” Michelle said plainly. 

“You could have told us, you know.” Hannah pointed out. 

She sounded so calm. So normal, and I was honestly shocked that she wasn’t shocked. 

“I didn’t know how to...” I trailed off and blushed again as I drew a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “And there wasn’t much to tell at first.” 

“Meaning what?” Hannah asked and narrowed her eyes slightly. 

I was torn as I began telling my friends about it. On the one hand, it was really, really good to finally tell them what had been going on. To let them in on the secret. And on the other hand, I felt terribly   
nervous and stuttered a great deal. 

“So, what you’re saying is that you’ve basically been having a no strings attached affair with an older woman since May?” Michelle asked plainly. 

“Michelle,” Hannah quietly scolded. 

“Yeah, basically.” I muttered and thrusted my hands into my pockets. 

“Damn.” Michelle said again. “You really know how to keep a secret, Welles.” 

“Wait, is this why you ended things with Allen? Because of Greta?” Hannah asked, and I could see how things began to make sense for her. 

“Yes.” I quietly confirmed. “I had cheated on him, and I felt like an absolute ass for doing so, but I realized that staying with him would make me an even bigger ass. If that’s even possible.” 

“Does he know...” 

“No,” I interrupted Hannah before she could finish the sentence. “I... I didn’t have the heart to tell him.” 

“If this started in early May...... You were seventeen.” Michelle observed. 

“Yeah.” I admitted. 

“Do you realize....” Michelle held it for a beat and then continued: “That your life is a fucking novel?”

I spluttered. “I’m pretty sure things would be way smoother if it was.” 

“You could have told us, you know,” Hannah said softly.

“There wasn’t anything to tell at first. Greta wasn’t really...” 

“No, stupid, not about Greta,” Hannah interrupted. “That you like girls.” 

“Women,” Michelle corrected and flashed me a rather cheeky grin. 

A new wave of heat colored my cheeks pink. “I didn’t know I did until I met Greta.” 

They both snickered at that, and then a new realization dawned on Michelle: “Is she the one you’ve been texting?” 

“Yeah.” I confirmed. “We’re actually supposed to meet in a few weeks but...” 

“So that’s why you’ve been acting all wonky,” Michelle smirked. “You have a date with your mysterious, older lover.” 

“Greta’s not that mysterious,” I protested and ignored the “older lover” part. At least she wasn’t mysterious anymore. Not much, anyway. 

Hannah shook her head in pure disbelief. “I just can’t believe how you’ve managed to keep that a secret. Weren’t you ever afraid that it would blow up in your face or something like that?” 

“It already has,” I sighed. “My mother kinda saw us kiss, so...” 

Michelle choked a little on the mouthful of cola she had just taken. “She what now?!” 

“Oh yeah,” I said darkly. “And she has already left me about a hundredth angry messages about how disgusting and shameful it is.” 

“You’re kidding me?” Hannah said, and her eyebrow rose in disgust. 

“I wish I was.” 

“Maybe you should have committed armed robbery instead.” Michelle deadpanned. 

I giggled at that. “Yeah, maybe I should. But her old-fashioned state of mind or the fact that she thinks this is about her, isn’t really what pisses me off the most even though that’s pretty bad too.” 

“What is, then?” Hannah asked. 

I sighed heavily as I flopped back on the bed. “The fact that she keeps going on and on and on about how Greta has “brainwashed” me and “manipulating” me into... she completely takes away the responsibility from me. It’s like, I’m not even capable of making my own decisions. At least, that’s what she thinks.” 

“Your mom’s always been pretty dominating,” Michelle nodded. 

It was like the damn had broken, and all my frustrations came out as I continued: “I don’t know what the hell my mom’s problem is, but Greta has not manipulated me into anything! Everything that has happened between her and me has been because I wanted it to happen! Not because I was being forced into it. I just don’t understand why my mother would... Greta is not some fucking ruthless...” 

“You’re in love with her.” Michelle interrupted. 

I finally paused and inhaled the air sharply between my teeth. “Yes,” I said, and my stomach did somersaults at the admittance. “Isn’t that crazy?” 

“Does she feel the same?” Hannah asked. 

“I...” Maybe. Possibly. God, I hope so. Maybe there’s a slim chance that she actually might... “I don’t know.” 

“Have you told her how you feel?” this time, it was Michelle who asked. 

“Nope. I was kinda planning on telling her when I see her.” 

“Where are you guys going?”

“The Big Wheel.” 

Michelle chuckled, and her eyes gleamed mischievously. “The Big Wheel, huh? Who knew you were such a romantic, Welles?” 

“Be quiet,” I muttered, but I couldn’t help but chuckle slightly. 

“No,” Michelle said, still with gleaming eyes. “And enough beating around the bush, Welles. I want details.” 

“Details about what?” 

“You know...” she waggled an eyebrow suggestively. “Bedroom details.” 

“No way!” I shrieked. “I am not gonna tell you about that!” 

“Why not? I’ve told you about Steve about a million times.” 

“Yeah, and most of the times none of us had asked any questions. You just started talking anyway,” Hannah deadpanned. 

“Whatever. My point is, that we normally tell each other these kinds of things!” Michelle said stubbornly. 

“There’s a reason it’s called a private life, Michelle,” I said while Hannah rolled her eyes again. 

“C’mon, Welles,” Michelle coaxed. “Throw me a bone.” 

“Michelle...” I warned. 

“One word,” she continued. “Just one word and I’ll let you off the hook.” 

“Do you swear on your life?” 

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” she assured solemnly, but her eyes were still sparkling. 

“Mind-blowing.” I said plainly. “There. I gave you one word.”

“Ohhh... mind-blowing, huh?” 

“Enough,” Hannah interrupted. “Stop being gross, Michelle.” 

“I’m not being...”

“Whatever. Don’t answer her, Celine. And tell us how you guys met instead.” 

“Well...” I said, grateful for the change of subject. “I actually have you guys to thank for that.” 

“What do you mean?” 

I smiled as I told them about the night in January where they had been late, and I had waited at that bar where the sleazy guy had showed up and tried to hit on me, and Greta had appeared out of nowhere   
and “saved me”. By pretending to be my girlfriend.

And my grin only grew wider as I continued my story and told them about how Greta and I had bumped into each other again and again. Talking about it felt good. It made it feel more “real”. It confirmed   
that I wasn’t just some silly girl who was caught up in a whirlwind romance with an older woman. 

It didn’t take long before both Hannah and Michelle wanted to know more, so I told them about how our paths had crossed at the hotel where my mother had been attending that conference. How Greta had helped me during my panic attack in the elevator. How she had left me the book. How we had talked. How I had felt connected to her.

“Damn. You got it bad for her,” Michelle commented. 

“Yep.” I said plainly. 

“Well, this certainly explains why you kept sitting in the car with her for so long,” she continued and smirked.

“It wasn’t that long.” 

Michelle scoffed to dismiss that, and then she frowned slightly: “Wait a second, why are you even here? Why didn’t you just stay with her?” 

“Because I didn’t want to ditch my friends,” I huffed, but then admitted: “Greta had other plans, so I couldn’t stay.” 

“Where is she then?” 

“She’s in Switzerland.” 

“Switzerland?” Hannah said. “Well, that’s not exactly around the corner. What’s she doing in Switzerland?” 

Good question. What is she doing in Switzerland? I still had no idea. 

“I’m not really sure.” I confessed. “But she was born there, so I guess it makes sense.” 

“Yeah, I guess it does,” Hannah nodded. 

Michelle suddenly started chuckling. 

“What?” I asked. 

“I just remembered that night we celebrated your eighteenths birthday and you got drunk,” Michelle laughed and shot me an amused glance. “Didn’t you end up staying the night at Greta’s?”

I cringed. Of course, she remembered that. “I did. She wasn’t too happy to see me.” 

“Why?” Michelle snickered. 

I elegantly skated over the truth as I said: “Because I was insanely drunk and ended up almost passing out on her couch.” I didn’t have to tell her about the accusations I had thrown in Greta’s face. 

Hannah laughed at that too and shook her head. And once she was done laughing, she said: “So, you’re meeting her when she gets back?” 

I shifted my weight slightly. “Does that make me insane?” 

“Nope,” Michelle said and popped the “p”. “To be honest, if I had an older, sophisticated lover, I would be eager to meet up too.” 

I grimaced, and I was fairly certain the tips of my ears were turning red as I said: “Oh god, please don’t ever call her that again.” 

Obviously, both Hannah and Michelle found that ridiculously funny.

A knot I didn’t even know I had carried in my stomach had suddenly loosened. It felt so good, to know that my friends finally knew what was going on. That I could share this with them without them   
judging me. 

I would have lied, if I claimed I hadn’t been one bit nervous about telling them. I had been afraid of how they would react to it, but they had taken it incredibly well. They didn’t care whether I was bisexual   
or straight or whatever. To them I was still Celine. And after my mother’s judgmental comments on my voicemail, that was such a relief to know. My friends had my back no matter what. 

I felt uplifted. And a tiny bit invincible. I was full of hope for seeing Greta when she returned home from Switzerland. 

Normally, I wasn’t one for getting carried away, I was too sensible for that, but it felt as if nothing could go wrong. Tomorrow, I would officially be done with high school. I was gonna graduate. And pretty   
soon, I was gonna see Greta. Our date was what I was really looking forward to. 

But I tried not to think too much of the confession I was going to make when Greta came back from Switzerland. Instead of overthinking it, I would just go with it and let the words come naturally. 

And Greta’s reaction.... I was definitely counting on some surprise on her behalf, and maybe a bit of anger because I was breaking “the rules”, but I hoped that she could feel it too. How good we were   
together. How it was so much more than just “chemistry.” 

“Celine? Hello?” 

My head snapped up at Michelle’s voice. 

“Something you would like to share with the rest of the class?” she teased. 

“Ha, ha, ha. Very funny. Wanna watch some Netflix?” 

“Trying to dodge a bullet, Welles?” 

“No, of course not.” 

“Riiiight,” she drawled. 

I did the only sensible thing and threw a pillow after her.


	37. Chapter Thirty Seven

I didn’t know how I managed to huddle my way through September. 

Time stretched out endlessly in front of me, and it felt as though it was taking forever.

And it was also odd, just hanging out at Michelle’s without anything to do. No more tests. No more classes. High school was over. Done. 

I still needed some time to fully wrap my head around that.

And somewhere between wrapping my head around it and waiting for the time to pass, the time suddenly just... Passed. And the month was up.

I woke up early on the morning for me and Greta’s date, and I immediately felt a nervous flutter in my stomach. It was today. I was gonna see Greta today. 

And I had no idea what to wear. 

That realization sent me out of bed in a flash and made me roam through my duffel bag like a maniac. Clothes. Why the hell haven’t I thought about that before?

“Mmm, what the fuck is going on?” Michelle asked sleepily as she lifted her head from the pillow. 

“Yeah, stop making so much noise,” Hannah chirped in. She happened to have stayed over.

“Sorry, but I realize I have a date today, and I haven’t thought about what to wear. As in at all.” 

“Your date isn’t until at five,” Hannah groaned. 

“That doesn’t matter,” Michelle said as she too emerged from bed. “A clothes crisis is a serious problem, Quinn.”

Hannah rolled her eyes. 

“Out of bed,” Michelle continued and wagged a finger at her. “Celine needs help.” 

Hannah muttered under her breath as she reluctantly got out of bed.

“Okay, let’s see what we’re dealing with,” Michelle said as she crouched down and started pulling the clothes out of my duffel bag.

She whole heartedly threw herself into it, and I chuckled. Michelle never did anything half-assed. 

And she also insisted that breakfast could wait. Finding clothes for me was far, far, more important. 

I felt tempted to agree with her. Seriously, why didn’t I think of what to wear? Why did I always think of such things in the very last moment? 

If my head wasn’t screwed on, I would probably forget that too. 

“This one,” Michelle proclaimed and pulled me out of my thoughts as she held up a ruffle top. “This one is pretty.” 

“Is it?” I said doubtingly. “Isn’t it a little...” 

“No. It’s perfect.” She said firmly. “Wear that. And...” a little more shuffling through my clothes.” “This.” she held up a blazer. ”It gives you really good shoulders.” 

“It gives me good shoulders?” I asked and shared a look with Hannah. I had no idea what the hell that meant. 

Hannah just shrugged. She clearly didn’t know either. 

 

 

As opposed to my previous experiences, the rest of that day passed really, really quickly. Suddenly, it was time to leave. 

And Hannah and Michelle insisted on “accompanying” me. 

“We have to make sure she’s not some crazy ax murderess,” Michelle laughed as we left the house. 

“I’ve lived with her for five days. She’s had plenty of opportunity to murder me. I doubt she’ll take a stab at it in the Great Wheel,” I said dryly. 

“Take a stab at it?” Hannah echoed and chuckled. 

“Pun intended.” 

We walked down to the busstop where Greta and I had agreed to meet, and I was just about to tell them that I could easily wait here on my own, when Michelle stopped rather abruptly. 

“What’s up?” I asked as I bumped into her. “Get a move on.”

But Michelle didn’t get a move on. Instead she looked at me over her shoulder and smirked. 

“What?” I asked again. Maybe Michelle was the weird one of us after all. 

“I have a feeling you won’t have to wait long.” 

I looked at Hannah to get a translation, but she just shrugged, clearly as much in the dark as I was. 

“Did you drink vodka for breakfast instead of coffee?” I asked her jokingly. That would be one way to explain her odd behavior. 

“Nope. I’m sober as can be,” Michelle said. “And if my eyes doesn’t deceive me, Welles, I do believe someone’s here to pick you up.” 

“What the hell are you talking ab....” the words died on my tongue as I followed her gaze. 

The black Mercedes was parked near the busstop. I had been right on time, but she had still managed to arrive earlier than me.

Greta was standing nonchalantly leaned against the car, tapping away on her phone. She didn’t appear to have seen me, but I had most definitely seen her, and I could immediately feel how much I had   
missed her. Three weeks apart was definitely too long. Something started fluttering around in my stomach.

Her face was shielded by a wide-brimmed, black hat that would have looked ridiculous on anyone else. But Greta could get away with wearing it. As could she get away with wearing the large sunglasses that covered her eyes. She was wearing a fur collar coat, but the fur collar was red on this one, and I briefly wondered how many fur collar coats she owned. And then I forgot all about my musings as I   
looked at her. My god, she looked beautiful. 

“Jeez, how can you say she’s not intimidating?” Michelle muttered, and I could sort of see where she was coming from. Today, Greta definitely looked intimidating. I couldn’t determine whether it was   
because of the hat or the sunglasses, but she did. 

“Are you just gonna stand here and stare at her?” Hannah half-chuckled. 

“She hasn’t seen me yet,” I mumbled evasively as I flicked a lock of my hair anxiously. Did I look alright? Maybe I should have tied my hair back in a ponytail instead. I tried to take a step towards her, but I   
just ended up nearly tripping over my own feet. Fucking fantastic.

The sound caught Greta’s attention, and she looked up just as I regained balance, straightened my posture, and smoothed a hand over the ruffle-y top and jeans Michelle had picked out for me. I suddenly felt very much underdressed. God, I should have gone with a dress instead. I should most definitely have gone with a dress. That would have been way more appropriate for the occasion. And   
this blazer I had been advised to wear today. It suddenly felt completely wrong. Great shoulders or not

“I look like...” 

“You look great,” Michelle interrupted her. “Go over to her.” 

“Right.” I raised a hand and tried to smooth my hair just a little. Without ruining the curls I had spent so much time on making this morning. 

“For fucks sake, Welles. Go over to her,” Michelle said and rolled her eyes. 

“Okay, with the risk of being rude, please scurry,” I gritted out. I wasn’t particularly interested in having an audience. 

“Fine. Come on, Hannah. Let’s get going,” Michelle snickered. But she and Hannah were barely five feet away from me before Michelle looked at me over her shoulder, smirked and then said: “Have fun.” 

I didn’t bother thinking too much of the underlying implication. Instead I just kept the smile plastered to my face until they were gone. Once they were out of sight, I walked over to Greta with my purse   
dangling from one arm. And that was a rarity. I wasn’t the type who had a purse with me. 

“Hi,” I said a bit breathless as I reached the Mercedes. 

“Well, well.” Greta acknowledged and smirked slightly. 

I reached out and touched her glove clad hand and was pleasantly surprised when she answered that by closing her fingers around my wrist and squeezing slightly. 

“You look beautiful,” I blurted out. 

She laughed fruitily at that. “Thank you, ma bichette. You look nice too. Very grown up.” 

“I guess it’s true what they say, graduating really does change you,” I quipped, and then a little quieter: “I knew the blazer was too much.” 

“It suits you,” Greta said. “Are you ready to leave?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Good.” Without further ado, she climbed into the Mercedes and opened the door to the passenger seat for me. I quickly took the hint and climbed inside. 

“You are early,” I pointed out as I fumbled a bit with buckling the seatbelt. And I thought I had been right on time. 

“I saw no reason to wait until the last minute,” Greta brushed me off. “Do you have the tickets?” 

“Tickets?” 

“I think I was promised a ride in Seattle’s most famous Ferris wheel,” Greta quipped. 

“Oh, right. Yeah. I have the tickets.” I assured. 

“Excellent. In that case we better get going,” she said as she buckled her own seatbelt and switched on the radio. After a second and a bit of crackling, a soft melody and honey smooth voice filled the car. 

“Ella Fitzgerald?” I guessed. 

“That’s correct. Very good, Céline.” She turned the car around and we left the parking lot. 

We sat in comfortable silence for a while, and I closed my eyes and listened to the music soaring out of the radio:

“Walk my way,  
And a thousand violins begin to play,  
Or it might be the sound of your hello,  
That music I hear,  
I get misty, the moment you're near.”

 

I was quite surprised when I suddenly felt a glove clad hand on my knee. My eyes snapped open again.

“Are you tired?” Greta asked gently. “I imagine you must be after graduating and all.”

“No, it’s not that bad,” I assured her and put my hand over hers. This meant she was steering the car with one hand, but right now, that didn’t even phase me. 

“Good.” 

“I’ve... I’ve missed you,” I dared saying and studied her face. It was hard reading her when she was wearing those sunglasses, but I was sure, I saw her mouth twist just a little bit. 

“I’ve missed you too,” Greta said, and it sounded like that was a big admittance on her part. 

“You... You have?” 

“Yes.” She said plainly. She wiggled her hand out my grasp and put it back on the wheel. 

 

“On my own,  
When I wander through this wonderland alone,  
Never knowing my right foot from my left  
My hat from my glove  
I'm too misty, and too much in love.  
Too misty,  
And too much  
In love......”

“Did you just get back?” I asked, in an attempt to steer away from the subject that seemed to cause her trouble. 

“No. I arrived home two days ago.” 

Two days ago? I felt oddly cheated again. “Then why didn’t you call me?” 

“What would I do that for?” Greta asked. “Our appointment is today. Not two days ago.” 

“That’s not the point,” I insisted. 

“What is the point then, ma jolie?” she was amused. She was most definitely amused. 

“That it could have been nice to know you were back. And hearing your voice. That could have been nice too.” I muttered. 

She laughed at that. “You’re hearing my voice now. Isn’t that good enough?” 

“Of course.” That was more than good enough. 

For the rest of the car ride we talked, and our conversation was more relaxed than ever before. Greta seemed so calm. So genuinely interested in what I had to say. She asked me about the graduation   
ceremony, and I told her that I almost tripped on my way up to the principal. She laughed at that. 

“And have you written anything since the last time we saw each other?” she asked. 

“Some,” I nodded. Now that I didn’t have any more tests to do, I had found the time to write again. “And I think it’s pretty decent actually.” 

“Perhaps you should try and get it published then,” Greta suggested. 

“Published?” I chuckled. “No way!” 

“Why not?” she asked plainly. 

“Because it’s not that good.” 

“And what makes you qualified to be the judge of that?” she drawled. “It might be better than you think.” 

“Well, it certainly got an interesting heroine,” I muttered and blushed slightly. 

I couldn’t see Greta’s eyes because of the huge sunglasses, but I was pretty certain she was smart enough to figure it out. Of course she knew I was writing about her. 

But she didn’t comment on it. Instead she simply hummed along to another Ella Fitzgerald song playing on the radio. I smiled a little at that. How I had missed that raspy, breathless voice. 

My stomach flip-flopped when I remembered the confession, I was planning on making tonight. Telling someone that you love them is always a pretty big step, but I had never been more certain of   
anything. I had never been more certain of what I felt for Greta. 

“Are you ready for the Great Wheel?” Greta asked as we closed in on our destination. 

“Yeah.”

“Have you been there before?” she inquired.

“A couple of times. When I was younger. Have you?” 

“No. Never.”

“You’ve been missing out,” I laughed. I was delighted to finally be able to show her something. 

 

There was already a small line forming at the Great Wheel. Most of the people standing in line were couples who had gotten the same idea as me. Couples. I smiled a little. There wasn’t an ounce of doubt in my mind that to the rest of the world, Greta and I definitely looked like a couple. And the hand Greta suddenly rested on my shoulder didn’t do anything to lessen that assumption. I looked up at her. I couldn’t be imagining this. She had to feel the same for me as I felt for her. 

“Tickets?” my musings when the guy in charge of it asked for our tickets and waved us up the few stairs. 

I quickly found the two tickets in my pocket and gave them to him. 

“Alright. Right this way,” he said as he pointed us to an empty gondola. 

“Ladies first,” I quipped as I stood aside to let Greta get in first. 

“Since when are you not a lady?” she inquired as she climbed inside.

“Never been one,” I snickered as I climbed inside the gondola. 

“Welcome to Seattle Great Wheel,” the guy said. “In case of an emergency the crisis button is right there,” he pointed to the clear ceiling in the gondola. “Enjoy the ride.” With that he closed the glass doors   
behind us. 

“Thank you,” I chuckled. He sounded like a mechanical toy. 

I was delighted that we didn’t get company in our gondola. Being alone with Greta was what I had dreamed off for three weeks. 

“I can see the appeal,” Greta commented as she looked out at Seattle skyline. She chuckled slightly as she finally slipped her sunglasses off and stuffed them into her pocket. 

I felt every bit shocked as I looked at her. Thanks to the sunglasses and the wide brimmed hat she was wearing today, I hadn’t been able to see much of her face, but now I was, and what I saw was   
honestly scaring me a bit. I had been a month since I had last seen her. How could she have changed this much?

The dark circles underneath her beautiful eyes more visible than ever. Her sharp cheekbones were more pronounced, and it had very little to do with makeup. No, she had lost weight. I was sure of that. 

Obviously, she was still every bit beautiful, but one could get the idea that she hadn’t been sleeping for fourteen days. 

“Why don’t you come over here?” Greta asked and patted the spot on the short bench she was sitting on. 

She didn’t have to ask me that twice. I quickly rose from my seat and scurried over to her. The gondola swayed a bit as I sat down next to her. Greta’s arm wrapped around me and instinctively, I leaned   
into her to rest my head on her shoulder. She didn’t protest against that in the slightest. Instead she began massaging the soft spot between my thumb and index finger on my hand. 

She was kinder than I had ever experienced before. She was gentler and softer than I had ever dreamed she could be, and that should have thrilled me. That should have given me hope and made me happy. 

But I could sense that something wasn’t right. Her soft and gentle behavior was a façade. It was nothing like the brusque and disinterested Alessandra façade I knew so well. No, this was different. She wasn’t acting cold towards me like I had experienced before. There was a sadness about her soft and gentle behavior. There was a sadness about her beauty. 

“What’s wrong?” I quietly asked her. 

“Hmm?” Greta said and tore her gaze away from Seattle’s skyline. 

“Something’s upsetting you,” I said cautiously.

“It’s nothing,” Greta dismissed. 

I raised an eyebrow. “Greta...” 

Her voice wasn’t even harsh when she cut me off: “I don’t want to bore you with my problems, Céline. That’s not why you invited me here, is it?” 

Subject closed. Whatever was going on in her life, she didn’t want to tell me. But I didn’t want her to think of whatever was making her upset. I would have to find a way to distract her. 

I raised my head slightly until I could give her lips a soft peck. That surprised her, I could feel that, but she quickly recovered, and her lips softened underneath mine. For some reason, she was allowing   
me to be in charge of the kiss tonight. The gondola swayed again as we began our journey back to the ground again. 

“You know, maybe we should ask for an extra ride,” I joked. 

“Or perhaps we should just keep going round and round,” Greta replied.

“Stuck on a Ferris wheel for all eternity?” I said. “That sounds a bit...” 

“Trivial?” Greta suggested. 

“Yeah, exactly,” I chuckled. 

Our gondola came closer and closer to the ground, and much too soon the guy slid the glass doors open, and we had to leave. 

“The ride was too short,” I complained as we walked back to Greta’s car. I didn’t remember it to be this short. Maybe it simply felt longer when I was a kid and excited to hang in the air. 

“I enjoyed it,” Greta assured me.

“Not much of a date...” I muttered. 

Greta flashed me a little smile. “Hotel Ballard isn’t very far from here. If you want to continue our.... date.” 

Oh yes! I wanted nothing more than that. But not at Hotel Ballard.

“Can’t we go back to your place instead?” I suggested. I had dreamed of being back at her houseboat for three weeks straight. 

Her expression immediately became slightly more guarded. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

“Why not?” I frowned. “It’s not like I’ve never been there before.” 

“The place is a bit of a mess.” 

I spluttered. “Seriously? Sorry, but I don’t believe that. You’re like the tidiest person in the world.” 

“Everyone is a bit untidy sometimes.” 

“Okay. Whatever. But I don’t mind a bit of mess. I mean, you’ve seen my room.” 

“Yes, and I still have nightmares about all the mess.” 

I chuckled again as I climbed into the passenger seat. “So? Can we go back to your place?” 

Greta sighed a little. “I suppose we can. Maybe it’s even for the best.” 

I didn’t get the chance to ask what that cryptic remark meant. She switched on the radio, and my questions were drowned in Ella Fitzgerald’s smooth voice. 

 

A short car ride later we arrived at Greta’s houseboat, and I caught myself thinking home sweet home as I exited the car and climbed aboard. 

“You’ve let your flowers wilder!” I said in mock sadness as I looked at the pot standing by the door. The red flower in it was now brown and crispy. 

“Yes. I suppose that was inevitable.” Greta said as she swiftly unlocked the door and pushed it open. 

I stepped inside after her and watched as she took her hat off and unbuttoned her coat. For a moment I was completely struck by what she was wearing underneath the coat. A black, strapless dress with   
a zipper down the front. It looked like it had been painted on, and the sight made my stomach flutter again. 

But then she switched on the light, and the fluttering feeling in my stomach turned into something cold and uncomfortable. 

The living room floor was barely visible because of all the black plastic bags. The paintings on the walls were gone. Her bookshelf were half empty, and I could see the books peeking up from the plastic bags. 

“I told you it was a bit of a mess,” Greta said quietly. 

“This looks like more than a bit of a mess,” I commented just as quietly. My stomach twisted. 

Greta sighed. 

“What’s going on?” I asked. “Why is half of your stuff gone?” 

She sighed again. “I suppose I might as well just tell you.” 

“Tell me what?” 

“Seattle wasn’t the fresh start I had envisioned,” Greta said. “I’m leaving.”

I felt as if an invisible fist was squeezing my intestines. “Where are you going?” I asked, and I was shocked at how calm I sounded. 

“To Geneva.” Greta said. She wasn’t looking at me. But at a point somewhere over my head. 

“B-but why?” I asked, and my voice cracked. 

“Because it’s for the best.” She said. Her voice was completely emotionless. 

“How can you leaving be for the best?” I demanded. 

“I need a change of scenery,” Greta said plainly. 

“Is it really that simple?” 

“Yes.” 

“And when were you planning on telling me?” 

“Tonight.” she said. “I was merely trying to...” 

“To what?” 

“To end this the right way.” 

There was this odd ringing sound in my ears. Her behavior this evening suddenly made perfect sense. Her gentleness. Her patience. 

“What about me?” I whispered. 

She gave my cheek a soft pet, and I could barely feel it. 

“You knew this wasn’t something that would last,” she said softly. “It’s better to end things here.” 

“That’s not what I wan....” 

“Sweetpea,” she interrupted. “I know this comes as a shock to you, but trust me, this is for the best. We’ve had some good moments, haven’t we?” 

I nodded wordlessly. 

“Then let it stay that way,” Greta said. “Let’s not argue.” She kissed my cheek lightly. 

A giant rock had settled in the pit of my stomach. Or so it felt. After everything that had happened between us, how could it be so fucking easy for her to just pack her things and leave?

“I am sorry,” she said. “But this thing between us... We both know it can’t last. I’m not what you want. Not really.” 

“That’s not true,” I whispered. “You are.” 

Greta chuckled darkly. “You’re so young, ma bichette. You haven’t had the time to figure out what you want.”

“That’s bullshit!” I bellowed. Her attitude was starting to make me angry. She was too fucking calm about this. 

“It is not,” Greta said. “You’re confused. Perhaps I’m to blame for that. Perhaps getting involved with you all together was a mistake on my part.” 

“A mistake?! How can you say that?!” 

She ignored that. “Do you want me to take you back to your friend’s house?” 

“I am not going anywhere!” 

“Very well. You are welcome to sleep on the couch tonight.” 

And there was that cool, calm Alessandra façade again. Her brusque attitude made my angry one crumble completely. 

“Please don’t leave,” I whispered. “I don’t what to do without...” 

“Of course you do,” she said, and gone was the crass attitude. “You’ll soon forget about me, sweetpea.” 

“Never.” 

She laughed, a little sad laugh. “You will. That’s the good thing about memories. They fade eventually.” 

“I don’t want you to fade!” 

“You say that now,” Greta said gently as she walked away from me and turned her back on me. 

“Please don’t leave,” I repeated. 

She didn’t react to that in any way. 

“Please don’t go,” my voice broke again. 

“It’s for the best.” 

“But I love you,” I whispered.


	38. Chapter Thirty Eight

That was not how I had planned on telling her. I had hoped to turn it into this amazingly, romantic moment, but her travel plans had caught me completely off guard, and instead of confessing my feelings in a romantic manner, I had ended up blurting them out. 

Greta had that effect on me. I always ended up blurting things out. 

Now I had said it. Now she knew. 

She was still facing away from me, but I could see how her posture had stiffened visibly. 

After a too long moment of complete silence where you could hear a pin drop, Greta finally said: “Right.” 

Seriously? I had just confessed this huge thing. I had just laid out my heart for her, and she didn’t believe me. 

“I do.” I said. “I mean it.” 

Her only response to that was exhaling. The sound came out strangely defeated. 

Maybe she’s in shock or something like that. I took a step closer to her. The floorboards creaked under my feet. The sound was too loud in the pin dropping silence between us, but I did my best to ignore it as I moved towards her until I was able to stretch out my hand and put it on her shoulder. 

“Greta, I love you.” I said quietly. 

“Please stop saying that,” she said as she brushed my hand away and walked away from me. 

“You knew the rules,” she continued, still without looking at me. “You knew that this could never...” 

“I don’t care about the rules,” I interrupted. “Look, I get that we’re different, I do realize that, but during the time we’ve been together...” I swallowed something. “I’ve never felt so good in my life. And I’ve   
never felt like this about anyone befo...” 

“Stop, Céline. Just... Stop.” Greta said. “You’re... You’re confused. You’ve mistaken certain things for genuine feelings. And that’s obviously my fault.” 

My temperament bubbled again. How dared she imply that I was confused? How dared she imply that my feelings for her weren’t genuine? 

“I know how much you love being in control,” I said and fought to keep my voice calm. “But you’re not in control over my feelings. You can’t just decide that they’re not real. They are. I’m in love with you.   
I love you. And I’m very sorry if that comes as an inconvenience to you.” 

To my utter surprise, she laughed. A completely humorless laugh that was barked out. 

“Oh honey,” she said and shook her head. Exactly like she had done the first time I had kissed her.

She still didn’t believe me. Incredible.

“Stop brushing this aside!” I said, and this time my voice was definitely louder. “Stop acting like I don’t mean it!” 

“You might mean it right now,” Greta said. Her voice was calm. “You might claim that I’m what you want, but I assure you, I’m not.” 

I opened my mouth to protest against that, but Greta just held her hand up to silence me. 

“Trust me, I’ll only screw up your life.” She said. 

“My life is better with you in it.” I said.

She finally turned around and looked at me. But her eyes looked... Empty. Like she didn’t really see me. And that scared me. During all the months I had known her, she had always made a big deal out of looking directly at me. 

“You don’t even know me,” she said dully. 

“You’ve never given me a chance!” I said, and my voice rose an octave again. “Why won’t you let me in?” 

“Because.... Because it’s better like this. Trust me.” 

I had tried so hard to keep my temper at bay, but now I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I had reached breaking point. 

“How can this be better?!” I bellowed. “How can you leaving without even giving us a chance be better? How can you just leave? After everything that has happened between us?!” 

Greta looked like she was about to respond to that in some way, but I completely ignored that and continued: 

“Is that really what I’m worth to you? Is it really so fucking easy for you to just throw me away?!” I sucked in a breath. “To just walk away and pretend nothing has ever happened?! 

“Miss Welles...” 

“STOP FUCKING CALLING ME THAT!” I yelled. “We’re not fucking strangers to each other, Greta! I’m not one of your clients, so fucking stop treating me like one! And stop pretending like I’m not important   
to you, because I don’t buy that! You can pretend all you want, but I know I mean something to you!” The dam had broken, and I couldn’t stop again. All the things I had wanted to say to her just bursted out of, and my voice echoed in the half-empty houseboat: “You wouldn’t have said yes to the date if I didn’t mean anything to you! You wouldn’t have let me live here for five fucking days if I didn’t mean anything to you.” 

“You had nowhere else to go.” 

I completely ignored that and continued: “You wouldn’t have let me sleep in your bed if I didn’t matter! And sure you as hell wouldn’t have held me like you did! Or am I just supposed to believe that you do that with everybody? Is that what you want me to believe, huh?” It was my turn to laugh humorlessly. “Because that’s bullshit, Greta.” 

Greta didn’t react to that in any way. She just kept staring at a point above my head. 

I took another step towards her. My arms were hanging by my side and my hands were curled into fists. I was shaking. 

“Why can’t you admit that I mean something to you?!” I demanded. “Is it really that fucking hard for you to actually care about someone?!” 

She still didn’t react. 

“I get that I’m not some...” I couldn’t even finish that sentence. “But am I really that horrible? Would it really be so terrible if you and I could actually...?”

“We can’t.” Greta said plainly. 

“Why not?! Why do you keep rejecting me?! “Why do you always put on some fucking façade for me and expect me to just go with it?! You’ve literally broken down every single wall I’ve ever build up, but   
the minute I try and do the same, you suddenly feel the need to remind me of the fucking rules!” I spat. My curled fists shook. “Why is it that you find is necessary to pretend you’re Alessandra the minute I try to get to know you?!” 

Greta had gone back to being silent. 

But I was not done being angry at her. I had never been this infuriated in my entire life. 

“Why? Why won’t you let me in?!” I said again. “Why did you agree to the date if you knew you were leaving? Honestly, blowing me off would probably have been more merciful than this! Why can’t you just give me some answers for once? Damn it, Greta, you owe me that! This isn’t fair to me! I want a fucking explanation! And don’t give me the whole “you don’t understand”-speech, because you’ve never given me the chance to understand anyth....” 

“I’m sick!” Greta yelled, and my first instinctive reaction was shock, because I had never expected that her voice could be this loud. 

My next reaction was to naively assume that she meant she wasn’t feeling very good, but I was quick to drop that assumption. “I’m sick” did not just mean she wasn’t feeling very good. No, it meant something else. My blood ran cold. 

“Sick?” I repeated in a tiny whisper. 

Greta nodded. 

My mind was spinning with a hundredth kilometers per second, and the questions were piling up in my head as I asked: “H-how sick?” 

“Exceedingly.” Greta said plainly. She had calmed down fast, and her voice was almost business like as she answered my questions. 

Exceedingly. I felt like something shattered inside me. My hands started shaking again, but this time it had very little to do with anger. Greta was sick. Exceedingly. The medicine I found in her bathroom cabinet, my mind whispered. But why? What was wrong with her? 

There was only one illness that came to mind. In all the tragic books I’ve read, and all the sad movies I had watched and cried about, it was always that illness. 

“Is it c-ca.....” I couldn’t even finish the sentence. 

“Cancer?” Greta said helpfully. “No, it’s not.” 

That should have been a relief, right? That should have been a good thing. But if it really was such a good thing, Greta wouldn’t have looked like that. 

There were other illnesses. Other things that could be fatal. 

“W-what is it then?” my voice broke. 

“My heart.” Greta said. She was too calm. Too business like. Like we were talking about the weather and not her health. 

Her heart. My own heart was pumping too rapidly in my chest. I could hear the fast thump-thump. I felt as though I was mocking her. 

“What’s wrong with it?” I asked. My voice sounded like it was coming from afar. 

“It’s a condition called “Cardiomyopathy”.” Greta said. “Which is mainly just a fancy word for how the heart muscle gradually thickens and its ability to pump blood lessens.” 

I hadn’t heard about that particular illness before. Or maybe I had. Maybe my mother had mentioned it when she spoke about one of her many, many patients. I couldn’t remember. I couldn’t even think   
properly right now. 

“Why don’t you sit down?” Greta suggested. Now her voice sounded like it was coming from afar too. 

Maybe sitting down would be a good idea. I think my legs were trembling under me. I wobbled over to the red velvet couch and sat down. I didn’t know what to say. Which question to ask first. Everything   
was blurring together in my mind. 

Greta sat down too, not terribly close to me. She was putting distance between us again. Then she elegantly crossed her ankles as she spoke again: 

“I’m on quite a lot of medication right now, but...” 

“But what?” I said. “You’ve seen doctors, right?” Idiot. Of course she has. “They can do something about, can’t they?” 

“Believe me, ma bichette, they’ve tried. I think I’ve been prescribed every last pill the American doctors could offer, and at one point there was some talk about a pacemaker,” she laughed humorlessly   
again. “But the medicine hasn’t been terribly helpful, and I’ve been told that a pacemaker wouldn’t make a difference in the long run. So I went abroad for a second opinion.” 

“Switzerland?” I guessed. It felt like a cruel joke I now knew what was in Geneva. 

“Quite right. What’s more reassuring than to be attended to by the man who treated you as a child and also treated your grandfather?” Greta said with a touch of dark humor in her voice. “They’ve done   
several tests. Scans. Blood work. Prescribed medicine. I’ve followed diets and god knows what else, but nothing has really done the trick. I mean, the medicine worked in the beginning. And then it didn’t.” 

The way she said it made me ask: “Is this something you were born with or...” 

“No. My grandfather died of a heart attack,” Greta said completely emotionless, “But I’m not sure whether that’s a factor or not.” 

“How can you just develop that type of illness?” I said desperately. “You’re too young to... I mean, there are things the doctors can do right?” 

“Oh yes,” Greta said sardonically and brushed a curl behind her ear. “A new heart is the answer to all my problems.” 

It felt like my own heart detached completely and ended up somewhere in the pit of my stomach. Heart transplant. 

I might have rejected medical school, but I knew enough about the particular subject to know how long that waiting list could be. 

“That’s why I’m leaving,” Greta said. “To be close to doctors I know in case things takes a turn for the best... Or the worst.” 

I looked at her face. Her pale cheeks and the dark circles underneath her beautiful eyes. I was slowly beginning to grasp how ill she was, but there were still things that didn’t add up. 

“I don’t understand,” I whispered. “You’ve been well. You’ve been working.” 

“Looks can be deceiving, ma jolie,” Greta said gently. “There has only been few occasions where I’ve found myself unable to pretend that all was well. But you didn’t know that, so why should you look for   
it? I’m an excellent actress.”

I took a minute to digest that. 

“And as for the work...” Greta continued. “I actually haven’t been working. At least not for the past two months.” 

“But you went out when I was here. You said that...” 

“Doctors appointments,” Greta interrupted. “As I said, I’m an excellent actress.” 

Things were beginning to make sense now. Her changed mood after coming home from “work” hadn’t had anything to do with a day full of hard work at all. It had been about her receiving bad news at the hospital. 

“It was during my last trip to Geneva that the doctor told me that a transplant is the only thing they can do.” Greta said. She wasn’t looking at me. Instead she was looking down at her hands. “Do you understand now? Why things can’t... Why we can’t...” 

I sort of did. But what I didn’t understand was... 

“How can this happen to someone so young?!” I asked. For the first time in my life, I wished I knew more about illnesses. 

Greta suddenly laughed bitterly as she leaned her head back against the couch. “Coming to Seattle was the mistake of a lifetime,” she said and closed her eyes. 

“Why?” 

“This was supposed to be a fresh start. New beginning. I had the opportunity to get another job. A better one. I had inherited the houseboat from grandpapa. This was supposed to mark the start of my new life.” 

I raised an eyebrow. I didn’t quite understand. 

“Do you know why I started working as an Escort in the first place?” She asked. 

“No.” but I had wondered why. I had speculated over why a talented violinist worked as an Escort. 

“My grandfather quite literally poured his heart and soul into my education,” Greta said. “He always wanted me to have the best,” she chuckled slightly. “I’m surprised he didn’t sell his soul in the process.”   
Another chuckle. “I got accepted into Princeton. He was so proud. I moved away and were educated by some of the best teachers you can find, but my grandfather wasn’t a terribly wealthy man. Sending me off to Princeton wrecked his economy. He had very little money, but he managed to hold it together until I acquired my bachelor and graduated. Unfortunately, my discovery of his poor economy clashed with myself going through a personal crisis at the time. One could say it was everything at once.” She shook her head. And then my grandfather had his first heart attack. I wanted to do for him what he has done for me. Give him the best. So I had to find a job, and I had to find it fast.”

“Escort.” I mumbled. 

“Quite right. You said you wanted to get to know me, this is my tale,” Greta said and laughed humorlessly. “Escort proved to be a very steady job, and I was able to earn enough money to share with my grandfather. He got his economy back on track. Bought the houseboat. Moved to Seattle to enjoy his retirement. He was so proud. He thought I was earning money by using my bachelor degree. He never found out where the money actually came from. I kept lying to him. And I kept doing what I did. No job turned up, and Escorting gave me a good and steady income. It certainly gave me the opportunity to live well.”

I listened quietly without interrupting. This was Greta’s story. The story I so long had dreamt of knowing. 

“My grandfather suffered another heart attack. He passed away, and coincidentally enough, I got the opportunity of getting another job,” Greta continued. “I chose to believe that was some sort of sign. I moved into his old houseboat, settled in and started my new job. That was supposed to be my fresh start.” 

“But it wasn’t.” I said plainly. 

“No, it was not.” Greta said. 

“What happened?” I asked earnestly. How could things have gone so wrong for her? 

She sighed a little. “I was on my way home. I no longer remember where I had been, but I had been out. It was quite late at night, and the weather wasn’t exactly good either. It was raining and there was this typical Seattle fog hanging over the city. I remember thinking that I had to get used to this kind of weather when it suddenly happened. One minute I was on my way home, and the next, this car comes swerving down the road. I don’t know why, maybe because the driver had lost control because the road was wet or due to the foggy weather, but either way I didn’t have the faintest chance to elude it. We crashed, and I was slung forward in my seatbelt. My airbag didn’t go off. I’m still not sure why, so my chest was more or less hammered into the wheel. I broke my sternum. And unfortunately, the trauma from hitting the steering wheel also damaged my heart. I don’t know why. None of the doctors have been able to find a reason why I suddenly developed this illness. Unclassified Cardiomyopathy, they call it.”

My ears were ringing strangely, and black spots danced before my eyes. 

“And unfortunately, I didn’t think much of the chest pains I continued to have,” Greta continued. “No scans or x-rays showed anything apart from a broken sternum, so I didn’t see a doctor about it. And when I finally did, the damage had already been done.” 

I sucked in a breath between my teeth. My stomach was tying in knots. I felt like I was going to be sick. 

“Medical expenses had to be payed, so once my sternum was healed, I went back to doing what I knew best. Escort.”

“The night... of your accident... Was it foggy?” I whispered, and my voice was thinner than ever before. 

“Yes, very. And the road was wet.” 

“Where... Did it happen? Where was the accident?” now my voice was shaking uncontrollably. 

“Madison Street. Why?” Greta asked and raised an eyebrow in confusion. 

“July 13th?” I whispered. 

“Yes,” Greta said, and the surprise over my extremely good guess seeped through her voice. 

My ears had started ringing again. Or maybe they hadn’t stopped. I felt like a gigantic fist was squeezing my lungs. 

No. No, no, no, no. no. It can’t be. It’s impossible. 

Except... 

It wasn’t. 

What Greta had just told me made perfect sense. The foggy weather. The wet road.

I looked at her. Greta. Greta, the woman I loved. Greta, the sophisticated, beautiful woman who had enticed me from day one. 

I inhaled sharply.

Greta, who had just confessed to me how sick she was. Greta, who needed a new heart in order to survive. 

Greta, the woman I was in love with. 

Greta, whose illness I had caused. 

Greta, the person in the other car. 

Despite everything my mother had said, there had been consequences. 

Right after the accident, I had been so angry every time someone had mentioned how lucky I had been, for how could two broken legs and sleepless nights due to the trauma be considered lucky? 

As I sat here and tried to breathe, I knew they were right. I had been lucky.

But Greta... 

My lungs were chasing after the oxygen. 

I had done this to her. I had made her sick. 

Greta was dying because of me. 

No. No. No. No. NO!

The nausea was swirling around in my stomach. 

“Céline? Céline?” 

I blinked once and tried to focus on Greta’s voice. That had worked before when I had a panic attack, but how could I possibly expect it to work now? 

I wasn’t worthy of her comfort. 

“Céline?” 

I blinked again. She had put a hand on my shoulder. 

“Are you alright?” she asked. 

No. I’m not alright. I did this to you. This is all my fault. 

But my mouth refused to say that. Refused to tell her truth. The only thing that came out of my mouth was: “I... I have to go.” 

Greta seemed confuse for a second, but then she went with it and nodded. “Alright. Do you want me to drive you back to your friends?” 

“No,” I rasped. “It’s fine. I can... take a bus.” 

“It’s late. You shouldn’t be running around on the streets at this hour. Let me take you...” 

“I really have to go!” I interrupted as I leapt from the couch and stormed over to the door. My pulse were hammering in my ear and half blindly I fumbled with the handle until I finally managed to open the   
door. 

“Céline wait a minute!” 

But by that time, I was already out of the door. 

 

I ran. Like the coward I was, I ran. 

I didn’t know how long I kept running. I just had to get away from the houseboat. 

This is your fault. You’re responsible. You did this to her. You are the reason she’s sick. 

My heart was pounding against my ribs as I ran. I crossed the street. A car honked at me. I ignored it. 

Greta was the one in the other car. You hurt someone. You hurt her, you hurt her, you hurt her. 

I had to stop. My knees almost caved in as I vomited. 

I didn’t really know where I was, but I didn’t care. Being lost was the least of my problems. 

My phone started blaring in my pocket, and my hand shook so badly I almost dropped it as I fished it out of my pocket. Greta calling, the display informed me. 

I didn’t pick up. Instead I let go straight to voicemail. I couldn’t bear talking to her. I couldn’t bear telling her why I had run off like this. 

A very small part of me still couldn’t believe that this was actually true. That I had done this to her. 

There had been so many occasions where I had yearned for a deeper connection between me and Greta. 

And now... 

Now there was one. 

It felt like some sort of sick joke, knowing that we had “met” each other before our first meeting at that bar. 

A sick, twisted joke. 

Why had I never tried to find out more about the person in the other car? Why hadn’t I been more stubborn when I asked my mother questions about what had happened to the other driver? Why had I let her brush it off? 

Had she known? Had she known that the person in the other car had been severely injured? 

No. No, I couldn’t blame this on my mother. 

This was entirely my fault. 

My fault. My fault. My fault. She’s sick because of you. 

I vomited again. My phone chimed again. Greta calling. 

Once again, I didn’t pick up. 

Once again, I was a coward. 

I didn’t know how to live with this. 

And that was terribly selfish of me, because this wasn’t about me. 

I had had my time to heal and mend. 

But Greta... 

What opportunities did she have to heal? 

I got back on my feet and stumbled down the road. There was the café I had met Greta once. The café she had bought me coffee in. The café where she had celebrated her birthday alone and upset. Maybe   
she had wondered whether she was gonna be here to celebrate her next birthday. 

New tears pooled in my eyes, and when I blinked, the first one landed on my cheek. 

I didn’t know how to live with this. I was still thinking about myself. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a bus, and when it stopped, I hopped on without even checking where it was going. 

The bus was half empty apart from a little old lady, and she glanced worriedly at me as I passed. 

“Are you alright dear?” she asked in a “caring grandmother”-way. 

No. No, I’m not alright. This is all my fault. She’s sick because of me. “I’m fine,” I whispered. I sounded anything but fine. My voice trembled uncontrollably, and I was shivering. 

The little old lady didn’t investigate further, though. And I was grateful for that. I curled up on the bus seat. My phone chimed again. Greta was still trying to reach me. I didn’t pick up this time either. I   
couldn’t talk to her right now. My words wouldn’t make sense to her. 

The bus drove down the street. This was the way to North Queen Anne and Michelle’s home. Good. Maybe I wasn’t completely lost then. 

Except I was. So very lost. 

Every last memory I had about the accident flared up within me, and my mind was overtaken by screeching sirens, blue lights and the sound of metal colliding with metal. 

The only change was, that I kept seeing Greta’s terrified face as she saw my car coming straight towards her. She had no chance to elude. No chance to avoid the collision. 

My breath became ragged again. The little old lady looked up and her brow crinkled in concern. 

I looked away. Looked down at my hands that were still curled into fists. My knuckles were turning white. 

Greta’s words echoed in my head. That’s the good thing about memories. They fade eventually. And, I think I would make for a very sad story. 

That sounded very much like giving up to me. 

Greta wasn’t counting on getting better. That much was obvious. 

Acid was swirling around in my stomach again. Maybe I would just get sick on the bus. Maybe I didn’t care whether I threw up or not. 

But for some inexplainable reason, I managed to keep it together. I managed to uphold my façade until the bus stopped in North Queen Anne. 

I more or less stumbled out of the bus and felt eighty years older as I walked down the street to Michelle’s house. 

The lights were on inside her house. Her mom were still up. 

But I never the less tried to be as quiet as possible as I slipped inside the house. I wasn’t interested in drawing attention to myself. My disheveled appearance would only make Michelle’s mom worried. She   
would ask questions, and I had absolutely no answers right now. 

I ended up curling up on the makeshift bed in Michelle’s room. What was it Michelle had said three weeks ago when I had told her about me and Greta? That my life was a novel. 

She was wrong about that. My life was a fucking horror movie. 

A horror movie I was responsible for. 

A horror movie I had created myself when I chose to drive home that night. Even though the weather was foggy, and rain had made the road slippery. 

How I wished I could go back in time and change all of it. 

If I hadn’t decided to drive home that night, none of this would have happened. 

Greta wouldn’t be sick. 

Greta wouldn’t be leaving.

Greta wouldn’t be on the brink of giving up. 

All because a stupid little girl chose to drive home that night. All because I had to be cocky and claim that the weather was a piece of cake for a “sensible” driver like myself. 

Sensible driver. My ass. 

I grabbed the blanket and pulled it over my head. Maybe, if I stayed here long enough, I would turn into a pupa. 

My phone chimed again, and I kind of hoped it was Greta, trying to reach me one more time, but this time it was Michelle, sending snapchats from the place she and Hannah were at tonight.

God, everything felt so surreal. Graduation. Did that really happen only two weeks ago? I felt like I had lived through several centuries since I had ripped my yellow graduation cap off and thrown it into   
the air. 

I didn’t answer that Snapchat either. 

Suddenly, I heard music coming from downstairs. Michelle’s mom had a habit of putting on music and abusing the volume button when she was alone. Or, assumed she was alone. She didn’t know that I   
was here. And the result was that I too had the pleasure of listening to Bonnie Tyler. 

 

“It's a heartache  
Nothing but a heartache  
Hits you when it's too late  
Hits you when you're down,

It's a fool's game  
Nothing but a fool's game  
Standing in the cold rain  
Feeling like a clown.”

 

I grabbed the pillow and pulled it over my head. Bonnie Tyler kept singing about heartaches. 

I tried to block out the sound. To block out everything, really. 

Of all things, why this? Why?!

I remembered the time when I had thought that Greta perhaps had a secret husband in Switzerland. 

God, how I wished it could have been that instead. 

Anything but this. 

Anything. 

I don’t know exactly when it happened, but at some point, I must have fallen asleep. I was back in my car. Back on the wet road, in the foggy weather. I saw the other car. I saw Greta’s face. I tried desperately to avoid colliding with her. I screamed as I pulled at the wheel in an attempt to avoid the pre-scripted collision. I slammed my foot down on the brakes.

I couldn’t do anything. My carscollided with hers. And then it kept happening again and again and again. 

Blue lights. Wailing sirens. Ambulance drivers pulling me out of the car, laying me on the ground. 

I saw Greta. I saw her lying there on the ground next to me. Her face was pale, and her white blouse smeared with red. 

“NO!” my phone landed on the floor with a thud as I sat bolt upright in the bed. I was drenched in sweat, and I gasped for air. 

Downstairs, Bonnie Tyler had stopped singing.


	39. Chapter Thirty Nine

I didn’t get any more sleep that night. My thoughts were spiraling out of control, and the idea of settling down for the night was impossible. Every time I tried, I heard sirens wailing, and the ambulance drivers yelling orders to each other as they tried to get me out of the car. 

My mind was one big mess as I tossed and turned. Not that I had any hope of falling asleep. I didn’t deserve to rest tonight. 

“I’m sick. It’s a condition called Cardiomyopathy.”

The bed creaked as I shifted again. 

“H-how sick?” 

“Exceedingly.”

My heart was pounding against my ribs. 

“That’s why I’m leaving. To be close to the hospital. In case things takes a turn for the better. Or the worse.” 

My throat felt constricted, and my eyes were burning. Maybe I didn’t have any tears left to cry. 

Of all the things in the world, why this? Knowing that Greta was sick was one thing. Knowing that she was sick because of me was something entirely else. I didn’t know how to live with that. 

I didn’t know how to live with myself. 

I had caused another person harm. I had injured someone. 

And it had to be Greta. Greta, I loved so much. Greta, who had become as important as breathing to me. 

Greta who was my oxygen. My water in the dessert. My stars on a dark night. Greta, who was the sole reason I could sleep at night. 

How many sleepless night had the accident cost her? 

And how hadn’t I noticed that she was sick? Everything suddenly made sense. Her cold fingers. The breathlessness in her voice. The two occasions I had seen her be dizzy. Everything made sense now. 

The door was opened, and Michelle stumbled inside, cursing a little under her breath. She had been out late.

I faked sleep as she yanked her clothes off and more or less fell into her bed. I didn’t know what to say to her right now. 

It was better to pretend I was asleep. 

 

But I couldn’t very well pretend the next morning when Michelle woke up and loudly complained over being “so fucking tired.” 

“Oh god, I’m never going out again,” she vowed as she rubbed her temples. 

Any other day, that would have amused me. She always made the same promises to herself. And she never kept them. 

But I wasn’t amused today. In fact, it felt like I would never be happy again.

“Oh. You’re home,” Michelle observed as she rubbed a hand over her forehead. 

I made an “mm” sound. I couldn’t think of anything else. 

“What time did you get home? I thought perhaps you would be gone all night, and- wait, why are you dressed?” 

My eyebrows rose. Was I dressed? Did I go to bed with my clothes on last night? A quick glance told me that Michelle was right. I was in fact dressed. 

“Is something wrong? Are you drunk? Should I be worried?” Michelle asked. She was beginning to sound more like herself now. 

“I’m not drunk,” I muttered. I kind of wished I was. 

“Then what is it? Sorry if this comes out crass, but you look like shit, Welles.” 

I almost chuckled at that. She was probably right about that. I felt pretty shitty inside. There was no reason why that shouldn’t be reflected on my appearance. 

“What’s wrong?” Michelle asked. “Talk to me. What happened? Did Greta do something last night? Do I have to kick her ass? Oh god.” She paused. “You told her, didn’t you? You told her you’re in love with   
her, and she didn’t take it well. She broke your heart, didn’t she?” 

Now I wanted to chuckle again. That description wasn’t that far off. Greta had broken my heart last night. Just not in a way I had expected. 

“She’s sick,” I whispered. I’m not sure how I actually got the words out. I don’t know how I forced my lips to utter them. They still didn’t make sense to me. I couldn’t get the words “sick” and “Greta” to   
add up. My brain refused. 

“What?” Michelle asked and blinked the last remain of sleep away from her eyes. 

“Greta’s sick,” I said. Greta’s sick. That doesn’t make any sense. 

“Sick?” Michelle repeated and frowned. “I think you lost me there, Welles.” 

I uncurled my body. My neck made a faint popping sound as I sat up in the bed and pulled the covers with me. “S-she told me last night. It’s something... It’s something called Cardiomyopathy. She needs   
a new heart to survive.” 

“My god.” Michelle said. The bed dipped slightly as she plopped down next to me. Her arm wrapped around my shoulder. “Oh, honey. No wonder you’re heartbroken.” 

“It’s my fault,” I whispered.

“That’s ridiculous, Celine,” Michelle said firmly. “This is not your fault. It’s damn tragic, but this is in no way your fau...” 

“No, you don’t get it,” I interrupted and my voice broke. “It’s my fault.” 

“Celine...” 

“Greta was the one in the other car.” Tears were springing from my eyes again. “I did this to her, Michelle! I hurt her. Oh god, I hurt her!” my voice went shrill at the last part, and I could feel the hysteric   
agony rise in my body. 

“Celine, oh my god.” Michelle said. Her arms wrapped more fully around me, and I clung to my best friend. I had to. If I didn’t, I would simply disappear in a puddle of tears. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” Michelle said quietly as she stroked my hair. “The weather was foggy, and the road was wet. The car slipped. What happened wasn’t your fault.” 

“If I had paid better attention...” 

“You did pay attention, Celine,” Michelle gently interrupted. “I know you. You are many things, but a reckless driver is not one of them.” 

“She’s leaving,” I whispered. 

“What?” 

I cleared my throat as I tried to clarify: “Greta. She’s going to Switzerland to be closer to the hospital. She was born in Switzerland, and now she has to go back. I’ll never see her again.” I was genuinely   
upset about both things. Knowing that Greta was so terribly ill because of me was one thing but knowing that she was leaving, and I would never see her again.... That was what made me feel ever so   
slightly hysterical. 

“Oh, sweetie.” Michelle said. Nothing more. What could she say? What could she do except offer me comfort? 

“I have to tell her,” I muttered. 

“Tell her what, sweetie?” 

“That it was me who...” new tears spilled from my ears. “That I’m the one who did this to her.” 

“Celine...” 

“She needs to know,” I insisted. “She deserves to know!” 

“Are you sure that’s...” 

“She has to know,” I said and interrupted Michelle again. It was almost like my brain had been thinking about this all night while I slept. “Even if it means she’ll hate me.” 

“Okay,” Michelle said. “That’s your decision, Celine. But you’re not telling her anything right now. You’re completely out of it.” 

“But I have to...” 

“No.” this time Michelle was the one to interrupt. “Not right now. You need something to eat.” 

“Eat?” I laughed dryly. Nothing had ever felt less important. “I can’t eat anything.” 

“You have to,” Michelle brushed me off. “And you need a shower. A long, warm one. You’re shivering.” 

I had known Michelle for a long time. And I knew that arguing with her right now would be completely pointless. It would be ridiculous to argue with her. Especially because she was right.

So I trotted into the bathroom. Changed out of the clothes I had worn since yesterday morning. Suddenly, I could feel how long I had actually worn these clothes. The ruffle top was clinging to my back   
thanks to the sweat inducing nightmares I had. I stripped out of my clothes and looked at myself as I washed last night’s makeup off my face. I looked horrible. My eyes were puffy and red rimmed. My   
cheeks were pale. Almost as pale as Greta’s. 

My fingers curled around the edges of the sink as the image of Greta’s pale face, the dark circles under her eyes popped up in my mind. 

There still was a small part of my mind that couldn’t accept how sick she was. How is it possible? I’ve spent so much time with her. How did I not notice that she’s sick? 

Regardless of how much I tried not to be, I was dr. Maura Welles daughter. My mother always took her work home with her. She constantly spoke of symptoms and this and that illness. 

I should have noticed how sick Greta was. 

I scoffed as I went into the shower. Of all the things, not noticing that Greta was ill was not the thing I should blame myself for. 

It’s your fault. She’s sick because of you. You did this to her. You made her ill. If you just hadn’t existed that you would be fine to drive home, Greta wouldn’t be sick. She would be well. She would be   
having a normal job and be happy instead of living alone and isolated from everyone. 

The water didn’t feel warm anymore. It felt ice cold. The only thing that felt warm, were the hot tears streaming down my face once again. 

My knees caved in and I ended up sitting on the wet tiles. I rested my forehead on my knees as reality hit me all over again. 

The shower didn’t really help. 

Nor did the breakfast Michelle insisted that I ate. I couldn’t really taste it, and at the same time I felt incredibly nauseous.

Michelle did her best to help, and as much as I appreciated what she was doing, I knew it wasn’t her I needed to talk to about this. 

It was Greta. 

I had to talk to Greta. I had to tell her that it was my fault she was so ill. 

It would cost me everything, I was sure of that. Greta would turn me away, like she had done so many times before, but this time it would be for good. 

I was going to lose her. 

You can’t lose something that isn’t yours, Celine, that damned little voice in the back of my head helpfully told me. 

The little voice had a point. Greta wasn’t mine. She didn’t belong to me. 

But I.......

I belonged to her. 

The “no strings attached”-rule was a mere memory. The damage was already done. She had me in a way nobody else would ever have me. I loved her. God, how I loved her. I loved her in a way that almost scared me. Not because it was bad or wrong, no, but because I had never felt like this with anyone ever before. And I probably never would again. I could search a million years, but I would never have such a deep connection with anyone as I had with Greta. 

I pushed my breakfast plate away. No matter what Michelle said, I was done eating. 

“Now what, Welles?” Michelle asked gently. 

“I have to see Greta.” I said plainly. 

“Are you sure?” Michelle said. “You’re still in shock. Maybe it would be better to wait.” 

“This can’t wait, Michelle. I have to tell her. She has to know. Even if it means she’ll hate me.” 

“I doubt she’ll hate you,” Michelle said. “She can’t hate you for something that was an accident.” 

I didn’t answer that. Maybe Greta would hate me. Maybe she wouldn’t. One thing was certain: she couldn’t hate me as much as I hated myself. 

If I could go back and change what had happened last year I would. I would go through hell and back to prevent myself from getting into that fucking car and drive. 

“Do you want me to give you a ride?” Michelle asked and pulled me out of my thoughts. 

“Thanks, but I think I’ll take the bus,” I said. “I need to... I need to think.” 

“Okay,” Michelle rose from her chair and gave me a hug. “You do what you need to do, Celine. But text me, okay? I need to know that you’re okay.” 

“I will,” I promised and gave my friend a hug. 

With that I left Michelle’s house and headed towards the busstop. The weather was chilly, and I pulled my hood up. A thick, grey fog was hovering over the city, and I was instantly reminded of that fateful   
night last year. That wet, foggy night where I made the mistake of my life. 

I shivered as I sat down on the bus bench. It felt like being thrust into a memory. 

 

The bus ride to Eastlake Ave E & E Lynn street seemed longer than ever before. The journey stretched out and went on and on. Or so it felt. The bile was surging around in my stomach, and yet I couldn’t quite quell the old feeling of being happy because I was on my way to Greta. It was ridiculous. I wasn’t allowed to feel happy about seeing her. Pretty soon she’ll be gone for good. I couldn’t imagine Greta coming back to Seattle. Why would she? This city had no good memories for her.

What she had said last night kept rummaging around in my head. 

I’m sick. Exceedingly.

The way she had said it had been so... So emotionless. So “here’s the deal”-like. A heart transplant was a major operation filled with risks and dangerous factors, I knew that, but surely, there was hope, right? 

What if there won’t be a heart for her in time? 

No. I refused to think about that. I couldn’t. 

The bus suddenly came to a halt, and I looked up in confusion. I was here. This was my stop. 

I exited the bus and walked down the street towards Lake Union. Soon I could see the harbor and all the little houseboats. Including Greta’s. It was still easy to spot. It was the only one that had a withered   
flower outside. She hadn’t replaced that with a fresh plant pot. 

And why would she? She’s leaving. 

The bile rose in my throat, and for a moment I was genuinely afraid that I was gonna throw up like I had done last night. 

I swallowed and pulled myself together as I “hopped aboard” Greta’s houseboat. I listened for a moment. There was completely quiet in there, but her Mercedes was parked outside, so I had to assume   
that she was home. I doubt she walked on foot. 

I raised my hand and knocked once. No answer. Just silence. Knocking a second time didn’t help much either, and I put my hand on the doorknob as I tried to work up the courage to call out for her. 

The door opened. This was the second time I had been met by an unlocked door, and I briefly wondered why Greta didn’t lock her doors. Was she really that unafraid of burglars? 

Probably. I could vividly imagine Greta give a burglar a tongue lashing so sharp he would abandon his task. I almost chuckled. 

I walked into the small hall and carefully closed the door behind me. “Greta? Hello?” 

I was met with no greeting. Well, except for... outside the door I hadn’t been able to hear it because it was so faint, but now I could hear the sound of music float out from her record player. Opera. Italian. 

So Greta didn’t just have a weakness for music from the 30’s, 40’s and 50’s. She liked opera too. That was actually not very surprising. 

I followed the sound and went into her living room where I found her on the couch. She hadn’t bothered with getting dressed this morning. Was still wearing a white nightgown that ended above her knee and a long silk robe. She hadn’t bothered tying it. Her head was tipped back against the many cushions. Her eyes were closed, and I almost thought that the worst thing imaginable had happened, but then 

I saw how her chest rose and fell with each breath she took, and my heart found its original pace when I realized that she was just sleeping. There was some sort of pamphlet lying in her lap. She must have been in the process of reading it but then dozed off instead. 

She’s tired. This was bad timing. I should just quietly slip out of the houseboat again. But the thing was... I didn’t want to leave. She was calling out to me. Even when she was asleep, she was still calling out to me. 

So instead of leaving, I quietly sat down in one of her armchairs. Watching her sleep was probably creepy, but I couldn’t quite help myself. 

She looks so peaceful. It was hard to believe that she was so sick. 

For a moment, I allowed myself to pretend that she wasn’t ill. For a moment, it was so easy to imagine that nothing was wrong with her, but then Greta coughed dryly in her sleep and shattered my   
dreams. 

The minutes passed as I looked at her, and I could almost have dozed off myself, but then Greta’s phone started screeching. My head snapped up, and for a split second I considered to pick the damn   
thing up from the coffee table and switch the alarm off. That was when I noticed the note lying on the coffee table. Greta must have scribbled it down before falling asleep. Something about long term stays at a place called Hotel Adriatica on Rue Sautter   
21 in Geneva. She was clearly planning her stay in Switzerland. 

The alarm was still screeching, and I hesitantly stretched my hand out to reach for her phone. There was no reason why she shouldn’t remain peacefully asleep. 

But before I got the chance to follow through with my plans, Greta stirred and opened her eyes. 

She blinked a few times and then her gaze became more focused. “That’s the second time you’ve barged into my home without being invited,” she said hoarsely. 

“Your door wasn’t locked.” 

“And you found that to be a valid excuse?” she asked, and there was that teasing I loved so much. 

“I tried to reach you yesterday.” Greta continued as she grabbed hold of her phone and switched the alarm off. 

“I’m sorry about that. I’m sorry for taking off like that,” I said. “But I actually have something I need to-“ 

“Do you mind grabbing my purse?” Greta interrupted and pointed to the kitchen table were her purse had been discarded. 

“Of course,” I said and quickly stalked over to the kitchen table. I snatched her purse and then walked back to her with it. My legs felt like jelly. 

“Thank you,” Greta said as she took the purse from me and thrust a hand inside the depths of it. 

An enormous lump formed in my throat as I saw how many different bottles of pills she pulled out of her purse. That was how much medicine she needed to... to... 

But Greta seemed completely unaffected as she took pill after pill and then downed the lot with a glass of water standing ready on the coffee table. 

“You wanted to talk to me?” she asked, and I saw her wince slightly. 

“Are you okay?” I asked dumbly. I immediately wanted to kick myself. She’s sick. Of course she’s not okay, you idiot. 

“Chest pains. I get them occasionally. It’s fine.” Greta dismissed. 

The lump in my throat grew. I lowered my gaze, and my eyes wandered to the pamphlet still lying in her lap. Taking a closer look at it, I could see it was a folder from a hospital. And it told you everything   
you needed to know about oxygen therapy. 

Oxygen therapy. My mother had mentioned that over the phone about a million times. I knew that oxygen therapy was used for several things. Including in the end-stages of cardiac failure. 

An invisible fist wrapped around my throat and squeezed as I once again tried to come to terms with how sick Greta was. 

“It was me.” I whispered. 

A perfectly sculpted brow lifted as Greta looked at me, confusion painted on her beautiful face. “Beg your pardon?” 

“It was me,” I repeated. I was still whispering. That made the words sound uncertain. I didn’t want them to be that, but I couldn’t get my voice to obey. 

“I’m afraid I don’t follow, Céline.” Greta said as she rose from the couch, wrapping her robe tighter around her. 

I followed her walk from the couch to the window where she stopped to look out at the water. 

“I was the one who...” my voice failed me. I cleared my throat and tried again. “It’s my fault...” my voice broke again. The words simply refused to leave my mouth, and that made me feel somewhat   
hysteric. What the hell was wrong with me? What, now I couldn’t even own up to what I had done?

Greta turned around and looked at me. “I don’t know exactly what you’re trying to say right now, Céline,” she said tiredly. “But I know I’m too tired for riddles today.” 

Tired. Yes. She looked tired. The dark shadows underneath her eyes were more visible than ever. 

“The other car,” I whispered. “It was... I was...” fresh tears fell from my eyes and I cursed myself for crying as I spoke of the accident. I wasn’t entitled to crying. I wasn’t the one who was sick. I had been   
lucky. 

Greta still looked every bit confused, and I could see she was starting to wonder why this conversation was relevant. I had to get to the point before she dismissed it. 

“I was the one in the o-other car,” I whispered. I was still crying. I couldn’t stop. “What happened... to you... It was my f-f-fault.” The word “fault” came out strangled and the tears fell uncontrollably from   
my eyes. 

I was so prepared for her anger. I was so ready to hear her command me to get the hell out of her home and never come back, so I was surprised when she didn’t say anything. She should be asking me to go to hell.

She had turned around and was looking out at the water again. Maybe she was still processing. Gathering enough energy to get angry at me. 

But after what felt like a small eternity but probably only was a minute, nothing hadn’t happened. Greta remained quiet, and my confusion was growing by the second. 

“It was me.” I repeated, just to make sure she understood what I was saying. “It was my fault.” 

Finally, Greta reacted. “I heard you the first time,” she said quietly and shortly. 

Then why aren’t you angry with me? Why aren’t you shouting at me and demanding that I get the hell out of your house? Oh god, is she too weak to get angry? Is that it? 

My breath became ragged as I hyperventilated, and once again I felt like I was mocking her. 

“Where you on the phone?” Greta asked calmly.

I blinked. What? “N-no,” I whispered. 

“Where you checking a message on your phone?” 

“No,” I whispered again. 

“Where you fiddling with something while you were driving? Did you drop something and tried to find it instead of looking at the road?”

“No.” 

“Were you in any way distracted by something that took your attention away from the road?” she inquired in that raspy, low voice that had enticed me right from the beginning. 

“No.” I said. 

She was still facing away from me, her eyes still focused on the water outside her window when she said: “Then I fail to see how it was your fault.” 

My mouth fell open with a soft pop. 

“It’s called a car accident for a reason, ma bichette,” Greta continued, and now her voice was as gentle as it had been the day before in the Ferris Wheel. 

“But... but...” I breathed without actually having a clue how that sentence was gonna end. 

“It was foggy.” Greta said calmly. “And the road was wet.”

“I was speeding,” I whispered. 

“So was I,” Greta calmly retorted. “As most people do when they’re in a hurry to get home.” 

Something deep inside me completely shattered. Greta wasn’t angry. She wasn’t blaming me. Why wasn’t she blaming me? She should be angry. She should be yelling at me. Not just stand there looking   
so calm. 

“I’m sorry!” I cried frantically while new tears formed in my eyes. I used my sleeve to wipe them away. I had no business crying. “I’m sorry! I am so, so sorry! It was my fault. It is my fault! Everything that   
happened to you is my fault. If I hadn’t-“ my chest rose and fell fast as the garbled confession spilled from my lips. “I should never have... If only I hadn’t... I knew the weather was bad, and I still chose to   
drive home! I could have stayed where I was! I should have stayed where I was....” 

“Stop talking.” Greta said plainly. 

I instantly closed my mouth. The last thing I wanted was to make her tired. 

“What a coincidence,” Greta mused, more to herself than to me. 

I didn’t know what to make of that observation, so I didn’t say anything. 

She finally turned around and looked at me. I searched her face, looking for traces of anger in her ice blue eyes. I found none. But her face wasn’t that emotionless “Alexandra-mask” I so often had seen. 

“You always seemed so inevitable,” Greta said. “Perhaps this is the reason why.” 

Seemed. Past tense. Something that had happened. Something that was now over. 

My heart sped up again. I didn’t want it to be over. Not now, not ever. 

“When...” my voice broke for the millionth time that day. “When are you leaving?” 

“In a week.” Greta replied. “The doctor thinks it’s for the best.” 

“I see.” Tears were prickling in my eyes, but this time I didn’t to anything to prevent them from falling. 

“Oh, ma jolie,” Greta murmured softly as she crossed the floor. Suddenly, I was in her arms, and I wanted nothing more than to get lost in her embrace. I wanted to stay there forever. 

“I love you,” I whispered into her hair.

“Don’t say that,” Greta said immediately. 

“But it’s the truth,” I whispered. 

I could feel her shaking her head at my statement. She was unwilling to accept that, and I wanted to tell her otherwise, but suddenly, I felt guilty for entirely different reasons. 

“I’ve made you do so many things,” I whispered. “Go to different hotels, and...” 

To my utter surprise, Greta half chuckled at that. 

“I’ve made you do things that’s exhausting for you,” I continued. “I shouldn’t have.” 

“Did I at any point come across as ill to you, ma bichette?” 

“No.” I whispered. Not once had the thought crossed my mind. 

Greta laughed again. “If anything, you’ve made me forget that I was sick. That’s quite the achievement.” 

I was tempted to tell her that I loved her again, but I was afraid that would make her let go of me. And I didn’t want her to let go of me. I was overcome by the urge to kiss her, and before I could stop myself, I was pressing my lips softly against her. 

The kiss took her by surprise, I could feel that. It took a moment before she returned the kiss. It felt different. She wasn’t taking as much charge as she normally would, and it felt very much like I was the   
one kissing her this time around. I was the one in charge of how this kiss played out. She was doing nothing to guide me. Her lips simply followed my lead softly and unfamiliar. Her lips were forming after mine. Not the other way around. 

This was a different kiss, and I wasn’t sure I liked it. Because this kiss felt like a goodbye. 

“Céline,” she suddenly muttered against my lips. “I can’t breathe.” 

I immediately broke the kiss and took a step backwards. Greta had visibly paled, and her chest was rising and falling too quickly. It reminded me of when I had seen her at the restaurant’s bathroom on my   
birthday. She had looked exactly like this. 

I quickly reached out and grabbed her arm. Oh god, what if she faints? 

“What can I do?” I asked. “Tell me what to do.” 

“I feel lightheaded.” Greta said plainly, like she was speaking of the weather and not her illness. “I need to sit down.” 

“I’ll help you,” I said. My hand rested gently on her elbow as I guided her back to the couch and helped her sit down. 

Greta once again tipped her head back. Her chest was still rising and falling too quickly. 

I took one of her hands between both mine. I knew attempting to warm her fingers was foolish, but that didn’t stop me from making an attempt. 

“Thank you.” Greta said quietly and added unnecessarily: “Today is a bad day.” 

I just nodded. 

“I think it would be better if you left,” she continued. “In a moment I’ll be asleep again.” 

I scoffed. Like hell I was going anywhere when she was having a “bad day”. 

“I’m staying,” I informed her. 

Her brow crinkled. “Why?” she asked. “Nothing’s gonna change. It can’t. You know that.” 

Once again, she rejected my love, and once again it hurt like hell. And once again, I chose to ignore it. 

“I’m staying,” I repeated. 

“Well, I’m afraid that makes you a...” 

I never found out what I was. A moment later, Greta was fast asleep next to me.

I kissed the hand I was still holding and snuggled into her like I had done during my week long stay with her. Her breathing had evened out, I noted. Good. That was good. 

I gently brushed a stray curl away from her face. Inevitable. That was the word she had used. 

She was right. All our meetings had been inevitable. Something had been pushing us together right from the beginning. 

I looked at her beautiful face. In just a week she would be gone. For good. Where would that leave me? 

Thinking of myself in this situation was definitely selfish, but I couldn’t.... I couldn’t imagine a life where Greta wasn’t present. 

It scared the hell out of me.

I had never been so scared in all my life. 

I didn’t know how to say goodbye to her. I didn’t know how to move forward when she was gone. 

Greta was scared of what would happen if she remained in my life. 

I was scared of what would happen if she wasn’t........


	40. Chapter Forty

I don’t know how long she slept. I don’t know how long I just sat there and looked at her. Kept close watch as her chest rose and fell with each breath she took. 

Maybe she doesn’t have to leave, I thought childishly to myself. Maybe she could stay here and get treated for her illness. 

I imagined many, many unlikely scenarios as I watched Greta sleep. Including asking my mother The Doctor for help. What if I begged her to “do something” that would magically make Greta’s name appear at the very top of that transplant list? 

Was that even possible? 

Probably not.

Would she actually do it? 

I wasn’t sure. 

But I was sure of one thing. Greta would never accept the help. She would scoff and dismiss my suggestion, like she had dismissed so much. 

Including me. 

She didn’t want me here, that much was obvious. But she had been too weak to protest. 

She didn’t want to be in my life. She didn’t want to be in anybody’s life. 

And now I finally understood why. Why she had isolated herself like this.

The image of Greta celebrating her birthday alone in a night open café with a book as her only company flashed before my eyes. 

My stomach churned at that mental image and I instinctively reached out and took her hand again. It was still cold, and I found myself desperately wishing that my touches would be enough to warm her   
skin. 

She sighted in her sleep, and I remembered that time during my stay here, where I had reached out and placed my hand just above her heart to tease her, to gloat a bit over her heart was beating as fast as mine. 

She had swatted my hand away. I had assumed that it meant she didn’t want me that close. 

But now I knew that that wasn’t the entire reason she had swatted my hand away. 

My touch had reminded her that she was sick. 

So many things suddenly made sense. Her bad mood when we had woken up that morning. She had had a “bad day”. 

I would make for a sad story. And I don’t have the desire to be immortalized.

That’s what she had said when I had joked about writing about her. 

A sad story. 

No matter how I twisted and turned it, it sounded like giving up. 

Had Greta given up? Had she just “checked out”? Did she think she was actually going to......?

No. I refused to even think that word. 

Of course there would be a new heart for Greta. There had to be. 

If she...... If she......

I instantly wiggled closer to her and clutched her hand a bit tighter. 

However ridiculous it sounded, I wanted to protect her. I wanted to protect her. Greta. The most confident, strong, sassy woman I had ever met. 

And the thing was, I couldn’t protect her. Not from this. Nor could I replace her heart with my own no matter how much I wanted to. 

She stirred next to me, and then her hand was wiggled out of my grasp. 

I turned my head and found her awake and looking at me. Her ice blue eyes were still a bit glassy, but her voice was as sharp as ever when she said: “You’re still here.” 

“Yes.” I said. 

“You shouldn’t.” Greta said plainly. 

“And why is that?” 

“I don’t need you to watch over me as I sleep,” Greta snipped as she pushed herself up from the couch. 

My shoulders tightened at that little jab. 

Greta saw, and her expression softened as she regained balance. “I am sorry,” she said. 

“It’s okay.” 

“But I do think it would be better if you left,” Greta said. “If you give me a moment to get dressed, I can take you home.” 

“I want to stay,” I mumbled. 

“Why?” she asked plainly. 

Because I want to make sure you’re okay. Because I want to be here in case you get dizzy again. Because I worry about you. Because I lo....

“Because I want to,” I said. 

Greta lifted an eyebrow. “That’s a bad idea,” she informed me, but apart from that, she didn’t protest. 

“What are you going to do with the houseboat?” I suddenly heard myself ask, and I wondered where that come from. 

“Beg your pardon?” 

“The houseboat. What are you gonna do with it when you...” my voice broke and I cleared my throat before continuing: “when you leave.” 

“Sell it,” Greta said with a light shrug. “I have no use for it when I’m in Switzerland.” 

Something inside me cracked again. “So, after you’ve had the operation... You won’t be coming back.” 

“After I’ve had the operation,” Greta echoed and laughed without an ounce of amusement in her voice. “Sometimes I can’t quite decide whether you’re shockingly naïve, or hopeful in the sweetest of   
ways.” 

“Naïve?” 

She sighed as she wrapped the robe a bit tighter around herself. “It’s not just a wound that needs patching up, Céline.” 

“I know that.” 

She ignored that. “So to answer your question, no, I’m not coming back to Seattle. If I get a new heart, I have to be near the hospital for a year. At least.”

“If,” I muttered. “Why do you have to say “if”?” 

“I’m not naïve, ma jolie,” Greta said and nodded to the hospital folder about oxygen therapy still lying on the coffee table. “That right there.... Is my future.” 

 

“Isn’t there anything else the hospital can do?” I asked, now I was grabbing for straws. “Is a new heart really the only option?” 

“There was once talk about giving me a pacemaker,” Greta said. She was looking out of the window again. “Or a defibrillator. But unfortunately, my condition is progressing too quickly. It wouldn’t change   
anything.” 

“I love you,” I whispered. I was well aware that this was the second time within the same day I had said that to her, but I couldn’t help it. 

“And how I wish that wasn’t the case,” Greta said, like my feelings were beside the point. 

“How can you say that?” 

“Because while I appreciate your sweet hopefulness...” Greta said and laughed bitterly. “I on the other hand have to be realistic. I don’t know how much time I have left.” 

I opened my mouth to protest, but Greta held up a hand to silence me. 

“It’s the truth, ma bichette. Even if I’m fortunate enough to get a new heart, there are still about a million different things that could go wrong.” 

I swallowed thickly. 

“One way or another, I would end up hurting you,” Greta said gently. “You’ve already had a taste of how things sometimes are on my bad days. Seeing me deteriorate as my illness progress would hurt you.   
If something happened, if there was a complication and I didn’t make it... That would hurt you too. Don’t you see? I warned you when you kissed me the first time. I told you, you wouldn’t want to do that.” 

“I didn’t regret it. I still don’t.” I said boldly and rose from the couch. “I’ve never regretted anything that happened between us. Including falling in love with you.” 

“You’re eighteen,” Greta said. “You’re far too young to deal with death.” 

“So are you.” I shot back. 

“I’m getting more and more familiar with death every single day.” 

I tried not to wince at that. “You’re not going to die! And you don’t have to deal with this alone! If only you would let me-“ 

“I’m leaving,” Greta reminded me. 

“In a week,” I said. 

“What difference does that matter?” 

“It gives me time.” 

“Time to what?” 

“Time to find a way to help you,” I said. “I can talk to my mother. She’s a doctor. She might be able to do something...” 

“And you think she would help the woman who so shamelessly kissed her daughter?” Greta scoffed. 

“You never know,” I shrugged. “If there’s something I’ve never heard my mother turn down, it’s something that has to do with her job.” 

Greta scoffed again as she turned around, but I could see the realization in her eyes. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” 

“Yes,” I said. Finally, she got that. I went over to her and wrapped my arms around her waist. “I’ll do... I’ll do anything,” I whispered into the crook of her neck. 

“Céline...” 

“Anything,” I repeated. “If my mother can help you, you can stay here. You wouldn’t have to leave. And we could... We could be together.” 

“That’s what you want?” Greta said quietly. 

“Yes!” I repeated. “More than anything.” 

She kissed me, and for a moment I could only revel in the feeling of her lips against mine. But then I pulled back and said: 

“Greta.... I.... I don’t want to... Make you dizzy agai...” 

She successfully interrupted me by covering my mouth with her own again, and this time, I didn’t protest. Her kiss was just too sweet. To intoxicating to refuse. 

I was also ecstatic. She understood. She finally understood what she meant to me. I had finally managed to convince her that she didn’t have to be alone. 

Her hands were resting lightly on my cheeks as her lips pressed against mine. I could feel her tongue run over my bottom lip, and I gingerly opened my mouth to let her in. 

She didn’t hesitate either. Her tongue danced in my mouth, and the world just sort of faded away as she kissed me. I was worried that this would make her feel unwell all over again, but I couldn’t say or   
do anything to protest. I could only respond to her kiss with every ounce of my being. 

By the time she finally released my mouth, I was the one who was breathless, and Greta flashed me a little smile. 

“Do you get it now?” I asked and tried to catch my breath. “I’m willing to do anything for you.” 

“Yes, I think I’m beginning to understand that,” Greta said. 

I smiled as I leaned forward and stole another kiss from her lips. 

Greta returned the smile. 

“You’re staying,” I said. It wasn’t a question. 

She answered me with another kiss, and I was more than happy to lose myself in her kiss once more. 

Desire flickered within me as a flame that refuses to die, and I tried my best to quell it. We couldn’t. Greta was sick. Too sick for this. 

But the desire flickering within me was stronger than common sense. I whimpered as I grabbed onto her hips to bring her closer. I needed her, and I scolded myself for being unable to let the desire cloud   
my common sense. The part of me that knew that this would only make Greta tired all over again. 

I whimpered again. 

“Shh,” Greta soothed. “I want you too.” 

“You.... You do?” 

“Of course I do, ma jolie. That hasn’t changed.” 

“But isn’t that dangerous?” I whispered. “I mean, isn’t that... bad for you?” 

Greta laughed at me, in the sweetest way possible. “No, Céline. That is not bad for me.” 

I opened my mouth to argue, but once again she stopped me. 

“You’ve kept me healthy,” she said gently. 

I raised an eyebrow. 

“You’ve made me forget that I’m sick,” she amended and smirked a bit when she continued: “And have I ever let you to believe anything else whenever we were... Together?” 

“No,” I said truthfully. “To be honest, I haven’t really thought much about anything when we’ve...” 

“Good,” Greta interrupted. “Then I’ve done something right.” 

I was pretty sure my cheeks heated up at that, but I ignored it and took a step forwards her again. I took her hand. I wanted to bring her upstairs and be nothing but good to her. I wanted to physically   
show her how much I loved her. 

I tugged gently at her hand in an attempt to guide her towards the stairs. 

But Greta shook her head. “My bedroom has practically been packed away.”

“You’ll need to unpack it again,” I said. 

She flashed me a little smile. 

“The bed’s still there, right?” I continued and returned her smile. “And that’s kinda the most important thing...” 

“It’s a mess,” Greta said stubbornly. 

“I don’t mind a little bit of mess.” 

“I do. And I certainly don’t want to do this with you on the couch.” Her nose wrinkled, and she considered it for a moment. Then her smile grew a bit more playful. 

“How about we take this back to the place where it all started?” she suggested. 

“And where’s that?” I asked confused. 

“Hotel Ballard,” she said and smirked at me. 

“Oh.” I breathed as I was suddenly assaulted by the memory of our first night together at Hotel Ballard. 

“Is that something you would be interested in?” she asked with just a hint of teasing in her voice.

“I... Yes,” I breathed. I didn’t know why she was getting nostalgic all the sudden, but I didn’t exactly mind it either. 

She chuckled as she pressed a light kiss to my cheek. “Give me twenty minutes to get ready.” 

I nodded mutely as she disappeared up the stairs with the long bathrobe dragging behind her.

I took the opportunity to text Michelle about everything. I told her that I had convinced Greta to stay. My text was full of optimism, and so was Michelle’s answer. Then she asked me whether it would be   
okay if she told Hannah what I had told her about me and Greta’s entwined fate. I texted back and told her that of course she could tell our other friend about it. I didn’t want to keep anymore secrets from   
my friends. 

When Greta returned downstairs after thirty, not twenty minutes, I could barely believe my eyes. 

There was absolutely no sign of a woman that wasn’t well. Greta looked perfect in a tight, bottle green dress with a side slit. It revealed an ample amount of her legs, and I quickly looked up at her face   
instead. Her hair was shining, her makeup was flawless, from her perfect cat eye to her red lips. 

“You know, one day you’ll have to teach me that,” I said. 

“Teach you what, ma jolie?” she asked as she placed a black pillbox hat on her head.

“How to get ready that fast,” I said. What I actually meant was how to look so perfect.

She laughed fruitily as she adjusted the hat a bit. “And haven’t I already taught you plenty?” she asked with sparkling eyes. 

I laughed along with her. The dark circles underneath her eyes were gone, I noted. Masked by makeup. 

“You’re beautiful,” I said spontaneously. 

She snickered a little. 

I walked over to her and wrapped an arm around her waist again. 

“Miss Welles,” she admonished. 

“Stop calling me that,” I retorted. 

“If you don’t let me go Céline,” she said. “We won’t be going anywhere. And I believe that was the whole point, was it not?” 

“It was,” I nodded as I only reluctantly let her go. 

“Come,” Greta said almost briskly as she put on her coat. The one with the red fur collar she had worn for our “date”. 

I followed her out of the houseboat and into her Mercedes. Even her car was beginning to feel homely too. 

“I’ve never seen you drive,” Greta suddenly said as we left the many houseboats behind. 

“I’ve been trying my best to avoid it,” I replied and chewed on my bottom lip. 

“Why is that?” 

“I haven’t been driving since...” my throat tightened. “Since the.... accident.” 

“I see,” Greta said. “It scares you, doesn’t it?” 

“Yes,” I admitted. “Does it... Does it scare you?” 

“It did for a while,” Greta said with a little nod. “But eventually I had to push past it and get back on the road so to speak.” 

“How soon were you able to drive after the accident?” 

“A few months.” 

“And now it’s been a year and then some,” I muttered. That was a long time, and I couldn’t really see how.... 

Greta’s response was to switch the radio on, and a moment later my concerns were drowned in Ella Fitzgerald’s smooth voice. 

 

It didn’t take us long to reach our destination, and it felt so like déjà vu as I followed Greta into the lobby and waited while she silkily asked for a room. 

A moment later she came over to me, smirking and dangling a key in my face. 

“Room 213,” I said. Now that was some coincidence. 

“Only room available,” Greta drawled. “Follow me.” 

And as so many times before, I followed her up the stairs and then down the long hallway. 

I half expected Greta to take charge, to run the show as she normally did once the door closed behind us, but she didn’t. Instead she waited with a little smile on her lips. 

It only took me a moment to realize that she was waiting for me.

Apparently, she was letting me take charge. 

“I’m all yours for tonight, ma jolie,” she said as she removed her coat and hat and shook her curls slightly. 

“Actually, you’re mine for longer,” I corrected. “Not just for tonight.” 

She smiled a little. “Are you just gonna stand there, or...” 

In one swift movement I had crossed the floor and slotted our lips together in another bruising kiss. My arms looped around her neck and it was possible that I stumbled slightly in pure eagerness, but I   
didn’t care about it. 

Right now, Greta was the only one. The only thing that mattered. The only thing on my mind. She and only she. I wanted her. All of her. For the rest of my life. 

And maybe that was greedy of me. Maybe I had no right to feel the way I feel, experts would probably claim that I was “too young”. 

But I wasn’t too young to know that once you find something so special as Greta, you hang onto it. You cling the fuck onto it and never let it go again. 

I didn’t need to. I didn’t have to let Greta go. She was staying. She was really staying. Here with me. 

I could already feel the ecstasy rise in my body. 

A slight movement brought me back. Greta had reached behind her and was now unzipping her dress. For a moment I wanted to protest, wanted to offer my help with removing her dress, but the smile   
she flashed me as her dress dropped to the floor was enough to render me speechless. 

Even though it hadn’t been very long since I last had seen her in this state, I could feel how starved I was for her. 

Hunger exploded in my body as I reached out and rested my hand just above her hip. 

She flashed me another little smile as she sat down on the edge of the bed, removed her shoes and then slid the stockings down her smooth legs. 

The roles were reversed. The first time I had sat foot in this hotel room, Greta had been fully dressed while I had been naked. Now she was willingly taking off her clothes for me. 

And she did it without breaking eye contact with me. I swallowed something. She was the one taking her clothes off and I was the one blushing. 

The stockings landed next to her dress and shoes, and I suddenly found myself mulling over the fact that for someone who detested mess, she was rather fond of dumping her clothes on the floor. 

“Are you gonna come over here and help me with my bra?” she asked gently and without and ounce of her teasing “teacher tone” in her voice. 

I immediately snapped out of it and shuffled over to the bed, pulling my tanktop over my head as I went. She hadn’t asked, but I preferred things being even between us. 

For once I wasn’t clumsy as I climbed into bed and sat back on my heels. Greta was wearing red today. Red lace. I liked that. I almost snickered as I removed her bra. I was still relatively inexperienced in   
all this, but I already knew what sort of underwear I liked on her. 

I didn’t fumble as I slid the straps down her shoulders and then unhooked the bra. Following Greta’s example, I dumped the bra on the floor. I didn’t ask Greta to turn around. Not yet. Instead I kissed   
her bare shoulder. 

She inhaled softly at that and looked at me over her shoulder. She wiggled slightly as to turn around, but I stopped her by placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. I wasn’t done yet. I kissed her shoulder   
again. Then her other. The back of her neck. I pushed her hair to the side for better access. 

This time she exhaled, and the sounds she were making was already starting to get to me. My lips connected with her not very cold skin again, and this time I didn’t settle for just her shoulders. No, this   
time I started at the nape of her neck and then dotted kisses all the way down her back. At first, I followed her spine as I went, but it wasn’t long before I spread my kisses all over her naked back. If   
anyone deserved a bit of extra attention it was her. 

Her head tipped back, and her hair almost brushed past her shoulders because of the way her head lolled back. Then she moaned. Just not a puff of breath, but an actual moan starting in the back of her   
throat. 

I kept kissing her back thoroughly, but I couldn’t resist snaking an arm around her waist, reaching up and then cupping her breast. That elicited another soft moan from her. Her hand were on mine. Her   
fingers were guiding mine as she pushed them towards her nipple. 

I did what she asked and brushed my thumb over it. She shuddered. Actually shuddered. 

I wanted to make her do that again, but it was a bit difficult when I couldn’t see what I was doing. I shuffled forward and planted another kiss. This time just below her ear. 

“Turn around,” I breathed into her skin. 

She immediately did as requested and my mouth went dry. Would I ever get used to seeing her without clothes? 

The answer was no. No, I would not. 

“Take off your bra,” she said quietly. “Do it now. Take off your bra.” 

I nearly snickered again as I reached back and unclasped my bra. There was the teacher I knew and loved. 

I dumped my bra on the floor, and I barely even registered the soft thud. Greta was looking at me, and the only word I could think of to describe the way she looked at me, was “hunger”. 

I shuffled forward on my knees and crashed our lips together. If she was surprised by my sudden intensity, she didn’t show. Her fingers tangled into my hair as we kissed, and I suddenly felt grateful I   
had chosen to let it hang loose today. I loved the feeling of her fingers in my hair. 

But this wasn’t enough. I needed her closer, and I needed her closer right now. 

I pushed at her shoulder, and Greta immediately understood. She lied down so willingly, and I something in my brain completely short-circuited at that sight. I wanted to ravage her right now, and I felt   
half-mad with desire as I swiftly crawled on top of her and crashed our bodies together. 

She made another sound, and I was immediately able to determinate that it was different from the soft moans of pleasure I’d just heard. This sound was more... Ragged. 

“I’m sorry,” I whispered as I immediately shifted my weight on top of her. “I didn’t think...” 

“It’s alright,” Greta said and let out this dry little cough. 

“Are you alright?” I asked worriedly and cupped her beautiful face in my hands. 

“Yes, I’m fine,” Greta said. “It’s nothing to worry about.” 

That wasn’t entirely true, and I knew that, but as for right now, I chose to believe her. 

“Kiss me again,” Greta said gently and grasped my chin to pull me closer. 

She didn’t need to ask me that twice. I immediately leaned in and kissed her. Once my lips were buzzing, and I had started to get worried about taking her breath away for all the wrong reasons, I dipped   
down and kissed her neck. All the way down to her shoulder. The top of her chest. The valley between her breasts. I wasn’t in a hurry, but my kisses became even softer, more tender as I reached the little   
bump on her sternum. Now that I knew exactly what that bump meant, I felt myself being overwhelmed by tenderness. 

Greta groaned as she pushed my head towards her breast. Clearly, I was taking too long. 

I felt tempted to remind her that we had so many opportunities to do this again and again, but I didn’t. Instead I did what she silently was asking me to do. I took her nipple between my teeth and sucked   
gently.   
Or perhaps not that gently. Greta’s back immediately arched, and her hips bucked. 

I’m doing this to her... I’m making her feel this way. I felt.... Not proud. Proud wasn’t the right word to use in this situation. No, I felt amazed. Amazed, that I was capable of making her feel this way. 

I released her nipple with a soft pop and kissed every part of her breast. I made sure my lips had covered every inch of her breast. Then I swirled my tongue over her nipple again. 

“Céline...” 

Still with my tongue on her nipple I looked up at her. Was she asking me to do the same to her left breast? 

No. That hadn’t been a command. That was simply a soft cry of pleasure. I had heard that before but hearing her say my name like that still made my body light up like a bonfire. 

And her cries only spurred me on. I took her nipple between my teeth while I brought my hand up to knead her other breast. I couldn’t neglect that. 

Her back arched again and her hands grabbed fistfuls of my hair. She was pulling and tugging, but I didn’t mind that. Warmth sizzled down my spine. I liked having my hair pulled. 

Once her breast was warm and slick I switched side, and I could feel how Greta’s hips wiggled slightly. 

I didn’t stop until her other breast was equally as warm and slick and her nipple almost impossibly hard. Then I looked up at her, a little half smile dancing on my lips. 

“I love you,” I told her as her cold fingertips danced over my bare arm all the way down to my wrist. 

“Yes,” she said simply and kissed my palm lightly. 

I chuckled lightly. Clearly, she wasn’t in any position to respond to declarations of love right now. 

And maybe it wasn’t entirely fair of me to say that to her right now. 

She grasped my hand again and this time she guided it in between her legs. 

I gulped. The thin lace still covering her was soaked, and she was so incredibly warm there. 

I looked at her again, and she raised her eyebrow in an “what are you gonna do about it”-manner. God, she was so beautiful. All glowing cheeks and mussed up hair and red lipstick smeared over her chin. Why did she even bother to put on makeup in the first place, I mused to myself as I carefully peeled the sodden lace panties away and pushed them down her legs. She helpfully wiggled her legs and then kicked the panties off in one swift, graceful movement. 

Once again, I was eager to even things out between us and I moved my hand from between her legs- she whimpered slightly at that- and then I clumsy but quickly undid the top button in my jeans zipped them down and stripped out of them. There. That was better. Now things were a bit more balanced, and the seam of the jeans had begun to grind against me in a way that made me distracted. I was happy to be rid of them. 

“Céline,” Greta said again, and this time there was definitely the faintest hint of a warning in her voice. It was her please-get-on-with-it-voice. 

I quickly wiggled my hand in between her legs again, and she helpfully bent one of her legs. Still with my hand between her legs I shuffled so I was once again lying on top of her. But this time without constricting her breathing in any way. 

I planted a light kiss on the side of her neck as I gently began stroking between her legs. My fingers skated effortlessly over her flesh. She was wet and slippery, and she grabbed onto my shoulder to support herself as my strokes became a bit more focused. A bit more determinated. 

The leg she had lifted grew slack as she lowered it and spread her legs wider for me. 

I slid my fingers up and found her sensitive little nub. She let out a ragged breath at that, and for a moment I feared that I once again was constricting her ability to breathe fully, but her grip simply tightened on my shoulder. 

“Inside,” she whispered. “I need you inside me.” her hips bucked again. 

More warmth sizzled down my spine at that, and licking my dry lips, I slid two fingers inside her. I was met by nothing but soft, tight velvet walls, and I had to draw in a breath. I was afraid I might combust right then and there. 

Instantly, Greta grabbed the back of my head and pulled me down for a kiss. Her lips tasted salty. Was she crying? No. Surely that couldn’t be, could it? 

“Move,” Greta murmured against my lips, and I never found out whether it was tears I could taste on her lips. 

I began moving my fingers within her. Slowly. Gently. I wasn’t in a hurry. I wanted this to last. I wanted to keep watching as her body twisted and turned under my ministrations, and her soft cries filled the hotel room. 

I dipped down to kiss her neck again, and I made sure to angle my fingers in exactly the right way inside her. I made sure each steady push from them brought her a little to that edge she undeniably was headed towards. 

This wasn’t like our other stays in various hotels. This wasn’t even like the week we had spent in her houseboat. She wasn’t teaching me anything tonight, and I most certainly wasn’t just having sex with her. I was making love to her. With each kiss to her skin, with each steady push from my fingers, I showed her just how much I loved her. How much she mattered. How I couldn’t live without her. How she had become my everything. My world. The inevitable. 

I picked up on how she had suddenly gone quiet. How her moans had stopped, and I lifted my head and looked at her. Her lips were parted, and her hips twitched. She was close. My gentle ministrations had pushed her towards the edge, and from what I gathered, she was only just clinging to it. She needed release. 

I thumped my fingers a little faster inside her, not much, my movements within her were by no means rough. Then I pressed the heel of my hand against her clit and applied as much pressure on the swollen nub as I possibly could. 

Her back arched again, and the movement was so sudden I almost put a hand on her hip to make sure she wasn’t hurting herself, but then her hand came down on my shoulder with a slap, and her blunt fingernails dug into the flesh. I sped up my movement, still with the heel of my hand pressed firmly against her clit. 

Her walls tightened snugly around my fingers, for a moment trapping them inside her. Greta was still completely silent, but I could feel how every nerve in her body tingled. 

Gradually, her walls relaxed, and I could feel how her sweet juices trickled down my fingers and soaked them completely. I didn’t mind that in the slightest. I knew I had every possibility to withdraw my fingers, but I didn’t want to. Not yet. 

Then her spine stretched out and she released a puff of breath. 

I lifted my head from her neck and slotted our lips together again. Her lips were still salty, but this time I was ninety nine percent sure it was because of the tiny little droplets of sweat. 

Her eyes were still closed, and honestly, she looked like she could use a moment to float back to Earth. Very gently, I withdrew my fingers from within her. 

She let out another little sound at that, and I gingerly licked my fingers clean to get a taste of her. 

I could feel how the hand still resting on my shoulder grew slack, and now that she was slowly coming back to Earth, I picked up on how much I needed to be touched. I had sort of blocked it out. 

Pleasuring Greta had been my number one priority, but now I couldn’t help but groan at the way my panties were sticking to me in a most uncomfortable way, how my nipples were almost aching, begging to be touched. 

Greta noticed, of course she did. When I looked at her again, her eyes were open. Darker than usually, but she was definitely a hundredth percent present as she sat back on her heels and motioned to me to lie down. 

I happily did as she requested, and I shivered from head to toe as she looked down at me. 

“I haven’t even touched you yet, ma jolie,” she whispered. Her voice was raspy and full of gravel. 

I tried to shrug, but it came out as an odd little gesture: “This is what you do to me,” I breathed. 

She smiled a little. “How unfortunate.” 

“Not really, no. I don’t mind.” 

She didn’t answer that. Instead she bowed her head and pecked my lips softly. My hands instantly slid up to cup her face, but she was gone before I could do that. She quickly trailed her kisses lower and   
lower, and I moaned as her hands began kneading my breasts softly. 

I was already half-gone. Every sound, every soft moan I had drawn from her lips had been fuel to an already flickering fire, and my hips twitched uncontrollably when Greta peeled my panties off and shoved them onto the floor. She smirked slightly as she grasped my ankles and then planted my feet flat on the mattress. 

My breath became ragged and I flattened my palms against the mattress. I knew what was coming. 

Then she was crawling between my legs. I saw how she made a slight movement and sent her curls tumbling over her shoulder. 

And then I saw nothing more. I had to close my eyes at the first swipe of her tongue. If I kept looking at her and actually saw what she was doing, I feared I might actually die right then and there. It was   
safer to close my eyes. 

But my voice was entirely beyond my control and I yelled as I felt her tongue on my clit. Her hand landed on my belly. I didn’t know whether it was to prevent me from wiggling, or to assure me she   
wouldn’t stop, and either way I didn’t care. My fingers trembled as I reached down and took her hand. Her fingers squeezed around mine, and her tongue kept moving between my legs. 

The world shrank until it only consisted of this hotel room. Of Greta. Only Greta. There was nothing else for me at this very moment, and I think I yelled her name, not caring whether somebody heard me or not. 

Why should I care who heard me? Why did it matter if anyone heard how much I fucking loved this woman? 

It felt like mere seconds since she had started, but truthfully it was probably me loosing all sense of time. I couldn’t think, and especially not now when she suddenly grabbed my legs and bent them over   
her shoulders. 

Another shuddery gasp escaped me, and my ankles crossed behind her back. Her tongue had left my bundle of nerves and was now curling flawlessly inside me. 

I couldn’t think. I couldn’t fucking breathe. My grip on her hand became iron tight, and how little I wanted to, I was getting close. I wanted to prolong this wild chase after my orgasm just a little, I wanted this frantic climb towards pleasure to last just a bit longer, but on the other hand I also wanted to curl up in Greta’s arms and relish in the skin to skin feeling. 

“Ahh!” I suddenly heard myself yell again and my back arched. The final sprint had set in.... It was coming.... I was.... 

Waved of pleasure crashed down upon me and white lights popped behind my eyes and I stopped thinking altogether...... 

 

***********

 

I immediately knew where I was when I woke up again, but I had no idea what time it was. A quick fumble in my jeans pocket after my phone informed me that it was 7:15. It was fucking morning. I had been out cold for twelve hours. Twelve hours. I couldn’t remember the last time I had slept that long. 

I turned my head. The spot next to me was empty. 

“Greta?” 

No answer. And no sounds coming from the bathroom either. So she wasn’t in there. Glancing at the floor one more time, I noted that her clothes was gone. 

Hmm. I rubbed my face and noted a bit smugly how swollen my lips were. And then my stomach growled. I chuckled. That seemed like a fairly natural response after being out cold for twelve hours. Of course I was hungry. 

And that was obviously the reason why Greta wasn’t here. She had gone downstairs to have breakfast. Despite my previous beliefs, I knew she wasn’t some superwoman. She couldn’t go without food. 

She had to eat. Just like the rest of us. 

And I needed a shower. And very much so. 

I quickly pulled my legs out of the tangled covers, grabbed my clothes and shoes and then went into the bathroom. 

The shower helped, got rid of most of my drowsiness, and I felt a bit more like myself as I left the hotel room, padded down the hallway and took the elevator downstairs to the lobby. 

The lobby wasn’t exactly crowded, and neither was the restaurant. I stretched my neck to see if I could spot Greta anywhere. Nope. I couldn’t. Hmm. 

I was debating whether to walk into the restaurant for an extra check or asking the hotel clerk if he had seen a woman in a green dress, but said hotel clerk beat me to it and asked: 

“Excuse me, miss?” 

“Yeah?” I said as I spun around on my heels. 

“Are you Celine from room 213?” 

“I am,” I confirmed with a raised eyebrow. This wasn’t exactly customary was it? I was pretty sure the hotel clerks didn’t “check” their guests like this. 

“A woman asked me to give you this,” the hotel clerk said and reached behind the counter, pulling out what looked like an envelope. 

“Thanks,” I said as I reached out and accepted the envelope. It had my name printed on it, and I immediately recognized the handwriting. 

I got a sinking feeling in my stomach as I ripped the envelope open and went over to one of the many armchairs in the lobby. 

Unfolding the letter, I tried to stall my breathing.

 

 

“”Celine, 

I imagine receiving this letter will leave you quite distressed, and I truly am sorry for that. 

I never meant to cause you any pain, which is why I’ll be gone there when you wake up. 

I can’t be in your life, ma jolie. It wouldn’t be fair to you. 

I meant what I said yesterday. You’re too young to deal with death. I can’t ask you to sacrifice your life, your youth for me. Because that is ultimately what being with me would mean. 

I’m sick, Celine. Too sick for this to ever work out. I have nothing to give you. Even if I should get a new heart, and even if I should survive the operation, things wouldn’t be easy. This would only end in heartbreak, and I don’t want that for you. It’s not worth it. I’m not worth it. Not knowing how much time we had left together wouldn’t be a life for you.

Yesterday you said you were willing to do “anything”, so here’s what I’m asking you to do: 

Forget about me. I know that’s it’s not as simple as it sounds, but trust me, eventually, you will. I will fade and become a memory. I hope I in time perhaps even will become a good memory for you. 

I want you to live your life, ma bichette. And you can’t do that with me in it. I can’t let you give up everything to be with me. You deserve more than that. 

Keep writing those stories of yours. Keep standing up and do what YOU want to do. Don’t do anything halfheartedly or to please others. 

Fall in love with someone who is worthy of your love. Someone who can be there for you and return your love completely and without hesitation. 

I know this will make you upset and believe me when I say that I never wanted you to be upset. 

But it’s better this way, I know it might not seem so, but please trust me on this one.

You deserve so much better than this, truly, you do. 

And most of all you deserve someone who can be there in a way that I can’t. As I mentioned, someone who can love you back without hesitation. 

You deserve more than just a letter, but if I said this to you, you would have asked me to stay. And I would have been unable to refuse. You would have convinced me with your sweet hopefulness and the stubbornness I cherish so much about you. 

But staying here, near you would have been a selfish decision on my part. I know that you, bound by your optimism is certain that everything will work out, but there’s no way of telling. 

I know this letter will not only upset you, it will also anger you, and you have every right to be angry with me. 

But ma jolie, this was the right choice to make. The only choice. 

I would ask you not to think about me, but I know this letter won’t stop you from doing that. 

I’ve let this go on for far too long, and I truly am sorry about that. 

I hope you’ll someday understand that I did this to protect you. Not to cause you pain. 

 

Greta.”


	41. Chapter Forty One

My first naïve thought was that this was a joke. A bad joke. 

Mainly because this was bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit. Naively, I clung to the hope that this was a bad joke, because there was no way Greta would have left while I was sleeping peacefully and contend.

The letter ended up in my lap as my hand grew limp. 

Greta’s gentleness. The way she seemingly had agreed to everything I suggested. Her nostalgia, her insistence that we came back to Hotel Ballard where it all had started. Her tears. 

She had never intended to stay. And I should have been smart enough to see through her little masquerade, but I had been so relieved over finally having her within my reach. Or so I thought. 

I had missed all the signs. 

I looked at the letter still in my lap. It’s amazing how fast everything can shatter around you. Last night, I was the happiest person alive, and now that same happiness was nothing but a pile of ash, ready to be swept away. 

I felt as though I had been swept away. Swept up by an enormous wave and left to drown. The letter in my lap wasn’t really a letter. It was a bomb. Every written word in the letter was an explosion. 

And each explosion shook me to the core. 

I rose from the armchair and went over to the hotel clerk. My voice was oddly calm when I asked: “When did the woman give you this letter?” 

“A few hours ago,” the clerk said briskly.

A few hours ago. What were the chances that she was still close by? 

Fucking slim. 

“Thank you,” I muttered to the hotel clerk. I felt like I was in some sort of trance when I found my phone in my pocket and dialed Greta’s number. I didn’t care whether I would get her voicemail or not, I had certain things I wanted to say to her. 

I brought the phone up to my ear and waited. 

Static noise. Dialing tone. 

I knew the chances that she would answer my call were slim, but she had always struck me as the kind of person who listened to every message on her voicemail. 

More dialing tone, and then......

“The number you are trying to reach is no longer in service”. 

I could almost feel the bond snapping. 

She had disconnected her phone. She had actually disconnected her phone. 

She had really cut the wire, so to speak. 

But I wasn’t giving up. This was not the end. 

Maybe I was still clinging desperately to some sort of hope as I bolted out of the door and hopped on the first bus back to Lake Union. I refused to accept that the chances she would be in the houseboat were slim. 

I refused to give up. And I most certainly refused to just let her go like this. 

I clung to the letter as the bus took me back to Lake Union. 

 

It was raining. I hadn’t noticed that when I left the hotel and hopped on the bus, but now, as I was walking towards all the houseboats, I noticed that dark, purple clouds were looming over Seattle. It was still just light rain, but it probably wouldn’t be long before it would start pouring down. 

I soon reached Greta’s houseboat, the smallest of them, and I was beginning to feel oddly numb all over as I hopped aboard. The wildered flower was still standing next to the door. 

I knocked once. It sounded completely hollow in my ears. And there was no movement inside the houseboat. 

“Greta?” I said quietly. “If you’re in there, please, please let me in.” I don’t know what I was hoping for. Nothing. Deep down, I already knew that Greta wasn’t in there. 

But that didn’t prevent me from knocking again. This time harder. My voice was louder too when I said: “God damnit, Greta. Let me in!” 

Why did I keep trying? I knew she wasn’t in there. Of course she wasn’t here. She’s probably half way in Switzerland already. 

I knocked again. Maybe insanity was taking over my mind. 

But no matter how many times I banged on the door, I was met with no answer, and I already knew why. 

She’s not here. 

I slowly turned around and walked back on the pavement. The sound of my footsteps were hollowed too. 

She’s gone. She’s really gone. 

I had once thought to myself that Greta was both my Paradise and my apocalypse. 

Now there was no Paradise left. Only apocalypse. 

And the apocalypse was even more devastating that I could ever have imagined. 

But to my surprise, I wasn’t just deeply upset by this. I was angry. 

How could she DO this? After everything that happened between us, how could she just leave with nothing but a fucking letter as an explanation?!

As expected, it had begun pouring down, and I sought shelter under an awning. I unfolded Greta’s letter and skimmed over it one more time. I couldn’t bear reading the whole letter again, but certain sentences still attacked my eyes: 

“I’m sick, Céline. Too sick for this to ever work out.” 

I plain refused to accept that. 

“Yesterday you said you were willing to do “anything”, so here’s what I’m asking you to do: forget about me.” 

She was twisting my words. Or so it felt. 

“Not knowing how much time we have left together, isn’t a life for you.” 

My throat felt constricted, and I blinked rapidly. 

“You’re too young to deal with death. I can’t ask you to sacrifice your life, your youth for me.” 

My throat didn’t just feel constricted now. It felt like a giant lump was preventing me from breathing. It wouldn’t have been a sacrifice. 

“Fall in love with someone who is worthy of your love. Someone who can be there for you and return your love completely, and without hesitation.”

Blinking back tears was impossible. This was the closest thing to a love declaration I would get. And the thought alone of falling in love with someone else....

“I want you to live your life, ma bichette. And you can’t do that with me in it.”

How could she ask me to do that? What kind of life would I have without her? 

“You deserve so much better than this, truly, you do.”

I was suddenly overwhelmed by a bizarre urge to laugh. Exactly what made her qualified to be the judge of that? 

“You deserve more than just a letter, but if I said this to you, you would have asked me to stay.”

I nearly scoffed. Damn right I would. I would have begged her to stay with every ounce of my being. 

“And I would have been unable to refuse. You would have convinced me with your sweet hopefulness and the stubbornness I cherish so much about you.”

New tears fell from eyes and I bit my lip. 

“But ma jolie, this was the right choice to make. The only choice.”

And what, I was just supposed to accept that?! 

“I’ve let this go on for far too long, and I truly am sorry about that.”

That anger rose in my chest again and threatened to spill over. How dared she make it sound that this had been entirely up to her? I wanted this too. I still want it. 

“It’s not worth it. I’m not worth it.”

“Why couldn’t you have let me decide that for myself?” I whispered out loud, knowing perfectly well that I wouldn’t get an answer. 

“I hope you’ll someday understand that I did this to protect you. Not to cause you pain.”

I didn’t feel protected. Not one bit. I felt completely raw and vulnerable, like a frightened animal. 

Or a frightened little girl. 

How was this “protecting” me? 

In what reality was this the best option?!

By removing herself from my life, Greta had taken away one of the few things that had actually felt right. 

How could she do this? How could she just leave like this? 

I knew she was sick. And I also understood that it was serious, I wasn’t a complete idiot, but I would happily have stayed with her through it. Through everything.

She had taken that choice from me. She had decided that it was better like this. 

But how could it ever be? 

How could she ask me to forget about her and fall in love with someone else? 

I couldn’t do that. I knew that with every ounce of my being, as I knew how deeply I loved Greta. 

I had told her that last night. And her response had simply been “yes”. 

Now I knew the answer to her odd response. While I had been kissing her and thinking that this was my future, she had known she wasn’t gonna stay much longer. 

I found myself wondering how long she had planned this. And then it occurred to me, that I already knew. She had decided the moment she found out I was gonna “give up everything to be with her”, I was   
sure of that. 

But the thing was, I wouldn’t be giving up anything to be with her. It wouldn’t have been a sacrifice. It was something I would happily have done. 

And now I couldn’t do anything. Because Greta was gone. 

It had stopped raining, I suddenly noticed, and my legs felt oddly liquefied as I wobbled down the street. I didn’t know where I was going. I felt lost, in more than one way. 

I didn’t know what to do with this end, that had so brutally been forced upon me. I didn’t know what to do without Greta. 

Everything that had happened between us blended together in my brain. Our first encounter in that bar. Seeing her down at the swimming pool when my mother was attending that conference and had   
dragged me along. Greta celebrating her birthday alone in a café. The first kiss. The first rejection. Our first night together. Her coldness, which had turned to kindness when she came and picked me up after I had left my mother’s house. My stay at the houseboat. The first night I had spent in her bed. The first time she had given herself to me. Our date at the Ferris Wheel. Last night at hotel Ballard. How happy I had been. 

The tears were flowing freely now, but I didn’t care. I didn’t care who saw it and who didn’t. 

It was gone. All of it. The future I thought was within reach, the future I so desperately had wanted, was now gone. 

And I was left with nothing but a letter. A letter that told me to forget Greta. 

She should have left me a complete, throughout guide on exactly how to do that. 

The only way to forget her was getting whacked over the head and losing my memory. 

Right now, losing my memories was oddly appealing. 

How was I supposed to forget her? How was I supposed to erase Greta Adams from my mind? 

I couldn’t. Plain and simple. Despite the letter and Greta’s talk about how memories fading, I knew with a hundredth percent certainty that Greta would never fade. 

I would always remember her. Her ice blue eyes. Her soft curls. Her captivating smile. Her raspy voice. Her kisses. Her touches. The rare display of vulnerability I had seen in her eyes over the last few days. 

I would remember it. I would remember all of it. 

Asking me to forget her, was like asking me to forget a part of myself. She was forever imprinted in my mind. 

And from now on, that imprint would hurt, like a throbbing, bleeding wound. Maybe, someday, that wound would get scabs, fade and then become a scar, but that scar would always be there and remind   
me of her. Of what I had lost. 

I blinked. I was in a bus. I hadn’t noticed that I had hopped on a bus, and I didn’t even know where this bus was going. 

Oh. This bus was going back to North Queen Anne and Michelle’s house. Maybe a tiny part of me had paid attention after all. 

The letter in my pocket felt heavy. I felt heavy. Like I had just aged twenty years. 

Why couldn’t she just have stayed? Why did she have to do this? 

A new lump was forming in my throat, and it hurt when I tried to swallow. Everything hurt. And that was the pain I’d have to get used to. It wouldn’t go away. 

I don’t know how I got to Michelle’s house. One moment I was sitting in the bus, and the next, I was standing in Michelle’s house. Everything was blurring together. 

My ears were ringing. It had been a while since I last had a panic attack, but it sure felt like I was going to have one right now. 

Sit down. Head between your knees. 

That was how Michelle found me. One moment I was alone, and the next, her hand was on my shoulder, and her voice was too loud when she asked: “Welles? What the hell happened?!” 

Welles. Welles. Miss Welles. 

I had to remind myself to breathe. 

“What the hell happened?!” Michelle asked again. Then she turned her head slightly and roared: “Hannah! Get down here!” 

A second later, Hannah came bolting down the stairs, and then I felt her hand on my shoulder too. “What the hell is going on?” she asked. 

“I don’t know,” Michelle replied, and her voice was a bit muddled. Like it was coming from afar. “I just found her like this!” 

“Celine, what happened?” Hannah asked gently as she crouched down to be in eye level with me. “Please talk to us. Did Greta do something?” 

I completely broke down and sobbed at that. Yes, Greta did something. 

Then I felt their arms around me. Both of them were trying to comfort me. They didn’t know how bad this was. They didn’t know that this pain wasn’t gonna go away. 

At some point I was coherent enough to mutter something about going upstairs to Michelle’s room, and both her and Hannah quickly guided me upstairs. 

As soon as I was sitting on the bed and Hannah had provided me with plenty of tissues, Michelle asked again: “What happened? Last night you texted me and said that everything was okay, and now...” 

Silently, I handed her Greta’s letter, hoping that would be explanation enough for the words my lips refused to utter. Greta’s gone. 

Michelle took the letter and she and Hannah went quiet as they read the letter. Michelle’s forehead crinkled. 

I wiped my eyes with the tissues. I probably looked like shit. I certainly felt like shit. 

And it didn’t matter how many times I wiped my eyes. Fresh tears kept coming. It didn’t feel like it was gonna stop. Ever. 

“ Forget about me. I know that’s it’s not as simple as it sounds, but trust me, eventually, you will. I will fade and become a memory. I hope I in time perhaps even will become a good memory for you.” 

My face completely contorted again, and I had to bury my mouth and nose in the tissue. I was aware that I was getting close to becoming hysteric, and I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to scare my friends. 

It didn’t really occur to me that I was probably already scaring them. 

I tried to breathe as slowly as possible. In through my nose, and out through my mouth. One more time. In through my nose, and out through my mouth. 

“What the fuck?!” Michelle exclaimed as she put the letter down. 

“A hotel clerk gave it to me when I came down to the lobby this morning to look for...” I ran out of words. 

“Oh god,” Hannah said as she sat down next to me and wrapped an arm around me. “Celine, I’m so sorry.” 

“Yeah. Me too,” I mumbled. “But I’m also angry. That...” I gestured vaguely to the letter. “Is fucking bullshit! How could she just take off like that and then leave nothing more than a letter?! After   
everything, is that all I deserve?!” 

“No, it’s not,” Michelle said firmly as she too abandoned the letter and squeezed my shoulder. “You deserve so much more.” 

“And I think she knows that,” Hannah said gently as she rubbed my back in a soothing motion. 

“How is this p-protecting me?” I said, and my voice trembled with both anger and sadness. “How is this the best decision?!” 

Neither Michelle or Hannah had any answers for that. They held me closer, and Michelle stroked my hair. 

“She’s probably halfway in Switzerland by now,” I murmured. “She just left. In the middle of the night. While I was sleeping.” 

“Oh, honey,” Michelle said. “I’m so sorry about this.” 

“How can she think this is for the best?!” I roared, my anger returned in full force. 

“She probably thought she was doing the right thing,” Hannah said gently. 

“The right thing?!” I bellowed. And then I cringed. This wasn’t Hannah’s fault. 

“I’m sorry,” I amended. “It’s not you.” 

“I know that,” Hannah quickly assured and rubbed my shoulder. 

“I just....” I wiped my eyes with the tissues. “I just wanted to be with her. I still want to be with her. But clearly, she doesn’t.... love me.” 

“Not loving you and being afraid of loving you is two different things,” Hannah said gently. 

“She could have t-told me that,” I whispered. “She didn’t have to leave like this...” 

“She thinks she’s doing the right,” Michelle said and echoed Hannah’s words. “And after reading her letter...” 

“Michelle.” Hannah said warningly and shot Michelle a look. 

“What?” I asked and looked up Michelle. “Please say it.” 

“She’s sick,” Michelle said and squeezed my hand. 

“I know she’s sick!” I said testily. “That was why she was trying to end things in the first place, but I still want to be with her! I want to help her through this!” 

“And what if there is no “through this”?” Michelle asked quietly and squeezed my hand even tighter. 

“Michelle.” Hannah said again. 

“I can take it,” I assured her and then looked at Michelle again. 

Michelle fiddled with the letter in her lap. “She’s asking you to forget her because she doesn’t think she’s going to make it, Celine.” 

“Then she’s pessimistic as hell!” I snapped. 

“Is she?” Michelle said quietly. “I’m not trying to make you even more upset, Celine, but...” 

“But what?” 

“I think you have to consider the possibility that she might not...”

“Michelle!” Hannah spat through gritted teeth. “Shut up!” 

“No, it’s fine,” I insisted. “I’d rather have honesty. No matter how harsh it is. Go on, Michelle.” 

“I think you have to consider the possibility that Greta isn’t....” Michelle ran out of words. 

I waited and looked at my friend. 

“She could pass away before the operation,” Michelle said very, very quietly. “Or during it. I’m really, really not trying to make you upset, but you asked for my honesty...” she paused and took a breath. 

“And I think it’s possible that she might be sicker than she lets on.” 

Her words stung, but I knew she was right. I nodded once, a quick little movement, and my voice was quiet when I said: “I know how sick she is. When I first arrived yesterday, she was all... weak and tired.” 

This time, it was Hannah who squeezed my hand. 

“She doesn’t want you to see her weak and tired,” Michelle said gently. “That’s why she left. She doesn’t want you to sacrifice anything for her. She doesn’t want to hurt you.”

“Yeah, well, she hurt me by running off! She can’t just push me away because she’s sick!” I exclaimed. “I wanted to help her. I love her. It wouldn’t have been a sacrifice! Of course, I can handle seeing her   
weak and tired! It wouldn’t matter to me. She would still be the same Greta.” 

Hannah’s arm wrapped around my shoulder and I clung onto her hand for support. 

“Even if she had stayed, and she died?” Michelle asked gently. “What would happen to you then?” 

My vision blurred, and for a moment, I dared imagining how it would be if Greta died. The thought alone was like a gigantic fist squeezing my heart and I felt as though I couldn’t breathe. Nausea was swirling in my stomach. 

Greta dying. The woman I loved cold and still. Her ice blue eyes forever closed. The idea of never hearing her voice again, hearing her laugh, seeing her smile or roll her eyes or feeling her touch. 

The scariest scenario possibly, and yet a frightening realistic one too. 

Because Michelle was right. There was a very real possibility that Greta wasn’t gonna survive. 

My teeth sank into my trembling lower lip. My hands were trembling too. I almost wished I would just pass out. 

“If she had stayed and.... died,” I rasped, and my voice broke. I tried swallowing a few times. 

Both Michelle and Hannah looked at me, and their eyes were so full of tenderness. 

“We would have been together,” I whispered. “She wouldn’t have been alone. I would have been there with her.”


	42. Chapter Forty Two

I so wanted to be angry the next morning. 

I had hoped the all-consuming despair would be overthrown by anger the next morning. 

God, how I wanted to be angry with Greta. How I wanted to hate her for what she had done to me. 

I wanted to be angry enough to swear to myself that I was done with Greta Adams and all she stood for. 

I really, really wanted to hate her. I wanted to turn all my emotions into ice cold rage. 

But the problem was that I couldn’t. 

I couldn’t be angry at her, nor could I hate her. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t. 

Despite the stunt she had pulled, I couldn’t hate her. 

It was impossible. 

I was barely awake when I reached for my phone and dialed Greta’s number like I had done yesterday. What was I even hoping for? 

Calling her and hoping she would answer was definitely self torture, skirting the line of being sadomasochistic, but I couldn’t help it. 

I couldn’t help myself when it came to Greta. I never could. 

So I waited and listened to the dialing tone, and then......

“The number you are trying to reach is no longer available”, a crisp, mechanic female voice told me. 

No, of course not.

I sighed gravely as I ended the call and flipped back on the makeshift bed in Michelle’s room.

This couldn’t be “it”. I refused to believe it. This couldn’t be how me and Greta’s story ended. Not like this. Not this brutal and abruptly. 

But I didn’t know how to get a hold of Greta. With her phone disconnected, things were more than bleak. 

I climbed out of bed and hauled some random clothes out of my duffel bag. Then I padded downstairs without waking Michelle. 

I briefly ran into Diane, Michelle’s mom, and she smiled and greeted me good morning. 

It wasn’t a very good morning, but I never the less returned the smile and greeting. Then I walked into the bathroom to take a shower. 

Apart from dealing with Greta’s sudden departure, I also had to consider what to do. I couldn’t keep living at Michelle’s place. I had already lived here for far too long. I knew that neither she or Diane minded me being there, but still, I didn’t want to take advantage of their hospitability. 

Going back to my mother’s house was obviously out of the question. No. I couldn’t do that. I would have to think of something else. 

I was eighteen years old. It was about time I got my shit together. 

I had a bit of money saved up from working at the cinema and babysitting. Not enough to rent an apartment, but maybe I could rent a room somewhere. 

My heart clenched. There had actually been a point where I had believed that I could stay with Greta at her houseboat. 

God, how could I ever have hoped for that?

It had been nothing but a dream. An impossible dream. 

Greta was gone, and I had no idea how she was doing.

Had she really faked being fine at hotel Ballard? How was she doing now? Was she okay? Or was she in fact sicker than she had let on? 

Not knowing was killing me. 

I finished my shower and re-dressed in my usual pair of jeans and tanktop. I didn’t even bother brushing my hair; I simply tied it back in a ponytail. 

I walked back upstairs to Michelle’s bedroom. Michelle was still sleeping, and I tried to be as quiet as possible as I sat cross legged on the bed. 

I was definitely still upset, but at the same time, I felt oddly calm after my panic attack yesterday. 

Maybe I was slipping into some sort of catatonic state. That was definitely a possibility. 

I absentmindedly gnawed at my fingernail. What the hell was I supposed to do now? 

Sure, I could settle down in a rented room somewhere and get a job. Earn money and put food on the table every day and all that. I would have a life, but it wouldn’t be a very happy one. 

There would always be something missing. Someone. 

I had this gnawing ache in the pit of my stomach. A bleeding wound that kept re-opening itself again and again and again.

I missed Greta so much it hurt. 

I missed her in a way I would have thought impossible. 

The idea that I was never going to see her again was both bizarre and frightening realistic. 

I could suddenly imagine it. How I forced myself to carry on, got a room and a job. Went to work every day. Ended my night in front of the television, hoping to sleep and eventually dreaming of Greta and   
the wonderful time we’ve had together. 

That couldn’t be it. Living one life while dreaming of another. 

That was simply too brutal. 

Brutal because I could imagine myself doing just that. I could imagine my insomnia coming back. I could imagine myself loosing the interest in writing. The interest Greta had sparked and encouraged. 

God, I wanted to be angry with her. I wanted to hate her. I wanted to wish that I had never met her in the first place. 

But I loved her. I still loved her. That hadn’t changed. Nothing could change that. 

I couldn’t just forget my time with her. My stay in the houseboat. Every kiss between us. Her hands on my body. 

Why did she have to leave? 

Why did she have to be so ridiculously self-sacrificing and leave? 

My eyes had started to prickle slightly, and I quickly blinked. I didn’t want to cry again. I had cried plenty last night. Now was the time to pull myself together. 

I scoffed. Pull myself together?

For once in my life, I felt like Maura Welles’ daughter. My mother was an expert in “pulling herself together”. 

I felt temped to inflict a bit more pain on myself and try calling Greta again, but why bother? Her phone was disconnected. There would be no answer. 

There would never be any answer. 

And right now, answers was what I craved the most. A fucking letter “explaining everything” wasn’t good enough. 

I ran a finger through my wet hair and shifted as I grabbed my laptop in my bag. 

I wasn’t completely sure what I was looking for as I switched the laptop on, but I ended up typing “Greta Adams” into the search space on Google. 

The search came up empty, and even though I wasn’t surprised, my heart still sunk. 

What was next? Type in “Greta Adams, Geneva”? 

No, that would be ridiculous. 

Ridiculous and desperate. 

But maybe that was actually fitting, seeing as I was pretty desperate. 

There had to be some way of reaching her. There had to be some way of finding her. 

A memory suddenly flickered in my mind. Myself in Greta’s houseboat. It had been the first time I had sat foot in her bedroom. I had snooped around while she was out, and I had accidentally touched her computer. The laptop had come alive and I caught a glimpse of her “private” website. Her Escort website. 

Back then, I had marveled at the pictures and felt aroused and jealous at the same time, but now I was wracking my brain as I tried to remember the name of the website. 

Come on, Welles. Think. It had been a classy name. Discreet and tasteful. Anything but trashy. Professional. 

My brow furrowed in concentration and I palmed my forehead. Think, damn it. Just think. 

For some impossible reason, my brain for once didn’t fail me, and the name of her website suddenly came back to me. Tempted to exclaim a triumphant “ha!” I quickly tapped the name into the search   
engine and held my breath. Greta hadn’t worked for months, she had told me that. But if she was speaking truthfully, she hadn’t been working by the time I had lived with her, and yet her website had still   
been up and running. 

I was allowed to hope, right? 

Her website still existed. That much was obvious. It didn’t even take a minute before the site had loaded, and I once again was “confronted” with how Greta had earned her money. 

Last time I had stumbled on her page I had been both curious and slightly horrified and, admittedly, aroused. 

I had been curious enough to scroll through the gallery on the page. 

This time, I did everything in my power to avoid looking at the gallery, because even though there were no actual pictures of her face, I knew that seeing just the tiniest snippet of her would be enough to make me break down all over again. 

No, what I was searching for, was her contact information, and I couldn’t help but feel slightly ridiculous as I scrolled through her page. Here I was, going through her Escort page like I was some goddamn client of hers. 

Maybe it was my distorted thoughts that made me confused, or maybe I just wasn’t fully myself, but either way I ended up on the space called “reviews” instead of her contact information. 

Reviews? I swallowed some bile. People could leave reviews?! What was she, a product?!

I didn’t know why I kept doing this. I should click back to her contact information. Instead I glanced at the reviews left on her page. A guy named “Andrew” had written:

“A beautiful lady who knows exactly what she’s doing. As a first time client, I must admit I was nervous, but Alexandra immediately made me feel relaxed.” 

Another “reviewer” had written: 

“A magical night with a hot lady. What more could a guy wish for?” 

Another “reviewer” with the name “Jo” had written: 

“I was deeply skeptic and didn’t think this was for me. Alexandra proved me wrong.” 

For some reason, I suspected that Jo could in fact be Josephine. 

Another reviewer, one “Paul” had written: 

“Alexandra is the perfect girlfriend.” 

Plain and simple. After a bit of scrolling, I found out that all of the reviews were like that. Everybody loved Alexandra. 

Except for me. I loved Greta. And the idea that I was actually sitting here, browsing through her old Escort site in some desperate attempt of getting to her was both ridiculous and sad. 

But I didn’t know what else to do. She had disconnected her phone and had left the country. I was out of options. 

I clicked back to her contact information. There was an email address where potential “clients” could contact her, and a telephone number. 

What to try first? I doubted either possibility would work, so I went with the first, the best thing and grabbed my phone. Then I dialed “Alexandra’s” number. 

I closed her Escort page as I held the phone up to my ear and waited for the crisp, mechanical “the number you are trying to reach is no longer available.”

Dialing tone. More dialing tone. Silence. 

I waited and chewed at my bottom lip. 

Dialing tone. 

God, I hated that fucking dialing tone. 

Static silence. 

“You have called Alexandra from Lace Delight . Unfortunately, I’m not available at the moment, but please leave your name and number and I will get back to you.” 

I damn nearly dropped my phone. Hearing her raspy, velvet-y voice was like being sliced apart slowly. And it didn’t help the matter that she sounded so fucking seductive. All smooth and velvet-y. But then again, this was her “business phone”. 

She probably had to sound like that. 

“Hey, uhm... It’s me,” I said and paused for a moment. I couldn’t believe that I was actually leaving a message on her business phone. Just another client who wanted to talk to “Alexandra from Lace   
Delight”. 

“Could you... Could you call me back? Please?” I chewed at my bottom lip again. “Please? I just.... I really miss you. I know you don’t want to talk to me, but please just call me back. We can’t end things like this. It’s not right. You know what, I actually don’t understand how you could just leave like this after everything that has happened between you and me. Is it really that easy for you to just get up and leave? No, never mind, I know it isn’t. I know you are trying to look out for me, but I don’t really feel looked out for or protected. Things were so much better when you were here, and I don’t know what to do anymore, so if you could please just call...” 

Beep. 

My message was cut off abruptly. There wasn’t enough room on her voice mail. She probably hadn’t checked her voice mail in a while. 

Damn it. What were the chances she would listen to my message then? 

Slim. 

Damn it. Double damn it. 

I switched my phone off and dumped it on my pillow. My head followed suit a few seconds later as I flopped back on the bed. 

God, what the fuck had even happened? How could things have deteriorated so much? 

Was I really that much of a fool? Had hoping that it could actually be me and Greta someday been that ridiculous? 

I could hear Diane rummage around downstairs, and a moment later, music floated upstairs, and Michelle groaned and covered her head with her pillow. 

 

“Knew the signs  
Wasn’t right,  
I was stupid for a while  
Swept away by you,  
And now I feel like a fool  
So confused,  
My heart’s bruised  
Was I ever loved by you?”

 

I almost snorted at that. Fucking fantastic. Diane loved tragic love songs as much as she loved dramatic, whirlwind romances. Normally, I felt sorry for her, but today I felt sorrier for myself and wished she had chosen another song to “wake up to”. 

 

“Out of reach, so far  
I never had your heart  
Out of reach  
Couldn’t see  
We were never  
Meant to be...”

 

My stomach clenched, and I caught myself wondering: did Greta ever really care for me? 

I tried to tell myself that that our last night at hotel Ballard had been different. It hadn’t just been a façade on her part. I was sure of that. 

Well, almost. 

 

“Catch myself  
From despair  
I could drown  
If I stay here  
Keeping busy every day  
I know I will be OK  
But I was  
So confused  
My heart’s bruised  
Was I ever loved by you?”

 

How easy it would be if I could just blame everything on her. Claim that everything was her fault. 

But it wasn’t. 

Greta had done her utmost to keep me away. She had rejected me after I kissed her. Hell, she had even warned me about herself. Said that she wasn’t what I wanted. 

And I had kept pushing.

But she had let me. 

We were both to blame for this. 

 

“Out of reach, so far  
I never had your heart  
Out of reach  
Couldn’t see  
We were never  
Meant to be....”

 

“God, why can’t she turn that fucking music down?!” Michelle complained as she abruptly sat up in the bed. The next second she was out in the hallway and yelled down the stairs: “Mom! Turn that music down!” 

Diane yelled something about how Michelle needed to get out of bed anyway. But a moment later, the music was turned down anyway. 

“Jeez, sorry about that,” Michelle said. “Sometimes she’s just so... Oh. You’re already up.” 

“Yep. Early bird gets the worm,” I joked. 

“Have you had any breakfast?” Michelle asked and rubbed her face. 

“No, not yet. I’m not really hungry.” 

“Are you okay? Do you need anything? A bottle of vodka to take the edge of things?” 

I laughed bitterly. “Yeah, a bottle of vodka would be kinda good right now.” 

“Give me two minutes to find one,” Michelle joked. 

I smiled meekly. “For some reason, I don’t think a bottle of vodka is the answer. Unfortunately.”

“We could go out some night. All three of us. Try and have a good time. Maybe that would take your mind off things at least for a little while.” 

“Maybe.” I knew she was just trying to help me, and I really appreciated it, so I didn’t tell her that going out probably wouldn’t help.

“Are you okay?” Michelle asked again, and this time her voice was much gentler. 

“No.” I said plainly. “I think I need to think about what I want.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I can’t keep living in your room, can I?” 

“You can stay as long as you want to.” Michelle said firmly. 

I smiled but shook my head. “Eventually, I have to get my shit together and find my own place since I apparently moved out officially.” 

“The future,” Michelle said with a headshake. “That’s some scary shit, isn’t it?” 

I nodded. “Yes, it is.” especially since I had no idea what was gonna happen. Everything was hanging in midair. I had rejected following in my mother’s footsteps. She had rejected me. I had left. 

I didn’t have a home. I didn’t have a job. I hadn’t applied for any college. And the woman I loved was gone. 

My future was one big mess. 

Everything was hanging in the balance. 

What was gonna happen? What was gonna happen to me? 

For a brief, wonderful moment I had dared hoping for a future with Greta. Her and me in her houseboat, safely tugged away from prying eyes. Just her and me and her collection of old movies and   
interesting books. 

But now Greta was gone, and I had no idea how to pick up the pieces of myself. 

I had no idea how to stay focused in the chaos she had left in her wake. 

Why did she have to leave? 

Why couldn’t she just have stayed? 

Why did she have to leave me behind? 

Why, why, why. 

It was the same thing all over again. My thoughts floated around the same questions. Deep down, I knew that. 

But the problem was, that I didn’t know how to stop asking myself “why”. 

And I didn’t know how to stop thinking of her. 

My future was definitely messy, but what about hers? 

I’m sick, Céline. Too sick for this to ever work out. 

My stomach curled with fear all over again, and I bit the inside of my cheek not to break down for the second time within two days. I couldn’t do that to Michelle. She was worried enough already. 

I had to pull myself together somehow. 

I just had no idea how to do that.


	43. Chapter Forty Three

A month passed. October became November, and I barely noticed it.

A month where absolutely nothing happened.

I didn’t know how I got through that month. The days blended together. Night became day as I lied curled up in a fetal like position on the makeshift bed in Michelle’s room. 

Michelle was worried about me. 

Hannah was worried about me. 

I was worried about me. Because I couldn’t find my way back to the life I had lived before Greta happened. I couldn’t remember what I had done before her. I couldn’t remember what had filled my day.

I felt numb. A shadow of myself. 

My life had turned into a living nightmare. 

I felt as though I had been shoved over a cliff and into a dark lake I didn’t know how to get out of. 

I had forgotten how to swim.

And my ability to breathe underwater was lacking. 

Every day was worse than the one before. 

Every day I woke up and remembered what had happened, and my desire to leave the bed instantly disappeared.

Sometimes, late at night when Michelle was sleeping, I wondered how this could be my life now. How could things have gone this wrong? 

One minute I was sitting in a Ferris wheel with the woman I loved, and the next I woke up alone in a hotel bed. 

I still struggled to believe it. 

I still desperately hoped that this was a nightmare and I would soon wake up. Let me wake up, please, please, oh, god, let me wake up. I can’t take anymore of this. I’m going insane. 

I had only been in this state once before in my life. The months after the accident. 

This was worse. This was definitely worse. 

This was the worst month of my life. 

I didn’t sleep much at night, and when I did, I always dreamt about the accident. The dreams had started to variate. Sometimes, in the dreams, I found myself sitting in the passenger seat, watching myself   
behind the wheel. In the dreams, I always screamed desperately to myself. Screamed to make myself watch out. 

It never worked. The dreams always ended the same way. With a collision. With me, standing near the road and seeing Greta being slung forward in her seatbelt, hammered into the wheel and then being slung back roughly. 

It was awful. It was inhuman. 

I felt as though I was going insane. 

Maybe I was. Maybe I had finally lost it. 

I didn’t know. 

I just knew that getting out of bed in the morning became increasingly harder. 

My body craved oxygen. 

My body craved Greta. 

I didn’t know what to do without her. 

My thoughts were constantly swirling around her. 

How could she do this? 

How could she just leave? 

Why hadn’t I woken sooner? 

If I had, I could have stopped her. I would have stopped her. 

And I would have asked... No, I would have begged her to stay. 

I would have begged her to give me a chance. To give us a chance. 

Running away like this...

No, I couldn’t keep going over it again and again. 

It was bad enough that I had memorized every last word in the letter. 

It was bad enough that I kept reading the letter. Over and over again. 

And those pictures she had given me... 

I kept looking at those too. I was desperate that I would somehow forget what she looked like if I didn’t look at the pictures every night after Michelle had gone to bed. 

Forget what she looked like.

What were the chances of that? 

How was I ever gonna forget anything about Greta? 

I couldn’t. 

I could do many things but forgetting her was not one of them. 

I didn’t know how to do that. 

She had left no instructions in her letter on how I was supposed to do that.

Obviously, trying to reach Greta on her “work phone” hadn’t payed off in the way I had hoped. 

I don’t even know why I had hoped in the first place, really. 

A vain hope that had been. 

Her other phone was still disconnected, and three days after my first attempt, I had actually tried to reach her on her “work phone” again, but I had been met with the same, automatic “the number you   
are trying to reach has been disconnected”, bla, bla, bla. 

And when I had tried her website again, that too had been taken down. 

Greta had successfully erased herself from the great wide web. She had successfully erased herself from my life. 

And it was absolutely killing me. 

But by now I had reached another stage. That anger I so yearned for earlier? I told myself that I was feeling it now. Because anger was better than pitch black despair. I had to be angry. I had to force   
myself to be angry.

This was not fair. How could she just leave like this? After everything that had happened between us?

She didn’t even fight. She didn’t even give us a chance. She didn’t give me a chance. She just chose the easy way out. She ran away, that’s what she did. 

By running off she had taken away the possibility for me to make my own decisions, and that wasn’t fair. She couldn’t just do that. 

She couldn’t just force me to make a decision I deep down didn’t want to make. She couldn’t do that to me. Not after everything that had happened between me and her. 

I should have taken the opportunity to rant a bit more on her voicemail. I could have needed that. 

There were still many, many things I wanted to tell her. 

Unfortunately, she had made sure that was impossible. 

Anger and numbness swirled around in my body and dulled my senses. 

I lost interest in everything. Getting out of bed in the morning was a battle, and eating had never been less interesting. I had to force myself to eat. Starving myself wouldn’t help anything. 

I didn’t write. I couldn’t write. I considered to shut down the blog. Reviewing movies meant nothing to me anymore. 

I couldn’t appreciate the millions of movies Michelle and Hannah coaxed me into watch with them. One night, Michelle had even offered to watch The Big Sleep with me, but I had recoiled. Lauren Bacall   
starred in that movie, and seeing Lauren Bacall was like seeing Greta. I couldn’t. 

Michelle had apologized, and I had brushed her apology aside. It wasn’t her fault. The Big Sleep was one of my favorites. She was just trying to cheer me up. There was nothing wrong with that. 

There was something wrong with me. I hated this. I hated what Greta’s little “now you see me, now you don’t”-stunt had done to me. 

I had suddenly transformed into one of those sniveling, moping heroines whose life falls apart because their significant others leaves them. And I despised it. I despised myself for turning into this   
pathetic version of myself. 

I was not some sniveling heroine, and this wasn’t a god damn movie. This was real life, and I couldn’t go on like this. I couldn’t stop eating, and I definitely couldn’t let myself spiral into depression   
because of this. I couldn’t let one month of this become two.

Somehow, I would just have to try and move on. I had to accept the choice Greta had made on my behalf: 

That it would never be her and me. 

It hurt like hell, and it would probably keep hurting for a good while, but I would just have to try and live with that. I would just have to live with the wound Greta had left me with. 

She had warned me about herself. I had ignored all her warnings, and I had been burned. Badly. 

And now she was gone. She had successfully erased herself from my life. In my darkest moments, I wondered whether she had even been real. But I could still remember how her lips had felt against my   
own. And that had definitely been real. Not even I was creative enough to imagine that. 

Getting over all this was going to be tough, and it was going to take time, but I still had to try my best. 

Letting myself go to hell over this, was the same thing as giving up completely, and I refused to do that. I was many things, but I was not a quitter. And I was going to prove that. After one month of pure   
misery, I needed something else to happen. 

“That offer about going out...” I said as Michelle and I was sitting in front of the television. There was some cooking show on, but neither Michelle nor myself were really watching. 

“Yeah?” Michelle said and looked up from her phone. 

“Does it still stand?” I asked and uncrossed my legs. 

Michelle quickly tapped her phone twice and made Instagram disappear. “Yeah. Definitely.” She grinned. “Just say the word.” 

“I think I’d like to go out,” I said hesitantly and fiddled with my hands in my lap. 

“You think you’d like to go out?” Michelle echoed and raised an eyebrow. 

“I’d definitely like to go out,” I corrected myself and flashed her a smile. It felt strange to smile. I hadn’t done much smiling lately. 

“Perfect!” Michelle grinned and put her phone down on the coffee table. Her full attention was on me. “Where would you like to go?”

I shrugged. “Your call. Anywhere. I don’t care. As long as I can get away with drinking in plain sight.” 

“That’s the spirit, Welles,” Michelle praised and patted my arm lightly. “Dust off your party attire. We’re going out tonight.” 

I chuckled as she grabbed her phone once more, and the next second, she greeted Hannah, and informed her that we were going out tonight. 

Hannah didn’t sound very enthusiastic, but Michelle insisted that “she needed to get out of the house”. 

“Pretty soon you’re running off to some fancy university to study,” Michelle said. “And god knows when we’ll see you again.” 

“I’ll come home for the holidays,” Hannah assured. “And I’ll Facetime you every day.” 

“Promises, promises,” Michelle said. “You’ll be way too busy for that. But we’ll forgive you. If you come out with us tonight.” 

“Please, Hannah?” I said sweetly. “I could really do with a night out.” 

“See? Celine’s begging you,” Michelle added. 

Hannah groaned. “Fine. I’ll go with you. But nobody gets drunk, alright?” 

“Spoilsport,” Michelle muttered. 

“Nobody gets drunk,” I promised. “Scouts honor.” 

“Alright. I’ll see you tonight then.” 

“See you,” Michelle grinned triumphantly as she ended the call. 

 

I laughed at her enthusiasm. It was difficult not to get affected by Michelle’s never failing enthusiasm. 

And so, that same night, I “dusted off my party attire”. Which consisted of a pair of black skinny jeans, a black V-neck sweater and black boots. 

After getting dressed for the occasion, I actually went into the bathroom and did my makeup. I glanced at myself in the mirror. I looked horrible. My cheeks were hollow, pale. And there were dark circles   
underneath my cinnamon colored eyes.

Coming to think of it, the way I looked tonight actually reminded me of someone else. Someone with ice blue eyes and....

No. I shook my head furiously. I was not gonna think of Greta. Not tonight. I refused. She’s gone, and she’s not coming back. Remember that, Celine. 

The all too familiar lump constricted my throat and once again, my stomach felt heavy with despair. 

My jaw made a faint click sound as I clenched it. Pull yourself together, Welles. I wouldn’t break down all over again. Breaking down wasn’t exactly the best way of picking myself up, and that was what   
tonight was all about. Picking myself up. Moving forward. I could do that, right? Right? 

She left me. She left while I slept. She left in the middle of the night with only a letter to “explain things” to me. She never gave me a chance to.... 

I shook my head again. Stop it. This was fucking torture. And I was angry at Greta, I reminded myself. 

At least that was what I kept telling myself. Anger was good. Anger was better than sadness. 

I could be angry with Greta. And I could ignore the rock like feeling of despair that gnawed in my belly. I could ignore all of it and go out and have a good time tonight. 

I washed my face thoroughly and started over on the makeup. I didn’t know when I had begun to silently cry, but that was gonna stop right now. 

I clenched my jaw again as I applied a new layer of mascara. The foundation to hide the dark circles under my eyes, and the fact that I had been living of greasy food for the past month. The result of it   
was obvious on my face. 

I hollowed my cheeks as I defined my cheekbones even more. There. That looked better. I looked better. I looked more like myself now. The same old Celine. 

I scoffed quietly. The same old Celine was gone. She was changed for good. I could apply makeup to my face, but I could still see this new Celine look back at me as I looked at myself in the mirror. 

The old Celine was gone. I was not the same person I was a few months back. However cliché it sounded, Greta had changed me completely. She had changed everything. 

The old Celine was gone, but maybe I could convince everybody that she was still here. 

And maybe I could even convince everybody that I was alright.

 

Hannah had arrived while I was getting ready, and both her and Michelle fawned and told me that I “looked amazing.” 

I felt so very far from amazing, but I still smiled and thanked them. 

“So? Are we going?” I asked as I snatched my ragged leather jacket from the coat rack. 

“Just waiting for you, Welles. Some of us have been ready for days,” Michelle teased.

I shook my head and the movement sent my ponytail tumbling over one shoulder. “Yeah, right. Let’s get going before I change my mind.” 

“Hear, hear,” Hannah muttered and smoothened a hand over her jeans. 

“Nobody is changing their minds. “Come on. Lets get out there and give people something to talk about,” Michelle said firmly and grabbed both our elbows to steer us out of the house. 

“Bye, Diane!” I called over my shoulder. 

“Have a good night, girls,” Michelle’s mother called back. “Don’t do anything stupid. And stay together.” 

“Roger that,” Michelle said. “Don’t answer if Tony calls.” 

“Roger that.” Diane said. 

I chuckled. One of the things I loved about Michelle’s mom was her laid back, nonchalant approach. She was caring, but never controlling. She was interested, but never interrogated Michelle in that   
demanding way my own mother so often did. 

Diane was fiercely protective of Michelle but in a different way. Michelle was never in doubt that she could come to her mother with anything, and Diane never pushed or throttled over Michelle’s boundaries. 

They had a different mother-daughter relationship. A better one. The same kind I sometimes longed to have with my own mother. A relationship I sometimes found it difficult not to be jealous of. 

I zoned out a bit as we walked towards Michelle’s car. This reminded me of the mess still going on between my mother and me.

Eventually, I would have to face her. Eventually, I would have to talk to her. 

Talk to her, but not argue. I was past the argue state. I was too tired to argue with her. 

I knew for sure that I wouldn’t be moving back in with her, but I still needed to find out what the hell I would do instead. 

But not tonight. Tonight I wanted to go out with my friends and hopefully have a good time. 

I deserved that. 

 

We talked and laughed and joked and listened to music as Michelle steered the car to whatever location she had chosen for tonight. 

“I should be at home packing for university,” Hannah said, and I’m pretty sure she was only partially joking. 

“You’re kidding me,” Michelle scoffed. “You’ve barely finished high school and you’re already talking about packing for university.”

“It’s never too early to start packing,” Hannah said. “Or at least that’s what my dad said last night.” 

“Your dad is a drama queen,” Michelle deadpanned, and then all three of us laughed wholeheartedly. 

“I’ll tell him you said that,” Hannah threatened and chuckled. 

“Please do. And tell him I stand by it too.” 

This time, I was the one to chuckle. I could actually imagine Michelle saying that to Hannah’s dad. And she would get away with it, too. 

Hannah groaned as Michelle turned the radio up. “Michelle, you know how much I love you, but seriously turn that music down.” 

“Nope,” Michelle said and stressed out her point by turning the volume up a notch. 

“That song sucks,” Hannah said plainly. 

Michelle huffed. “It’s God is a Woman. It’s not a song, it’s a phenomenon.”

“Whatever. Just turn it down.” 

But she didn’t. Instead she started singing along. Loudly. 

“Michelle!” Hannah protested. “Singing won’t get you far in this world.” 

“And I can be all the things you told me not to be,” I joined in and grinned at Hannah. “When you try to come for me, I keep flourishing, and he see the universe when I'm in company it's all in me.”

Michelle lifted one hand from the wheel and high-five’d me. Then she picked it up. With a much louder voice: “You, you love it how I move you, you love it how I touch you, my one, when all is said and done, you'll believe God is a woman, and I, I feel it after midnight, a feelin' that you can't fight, my one, it lingers when we're done, You'll believe God is a woman, yeah, yeah!

I laughed, and we put Hannah through one more verse before we decided to let Ariana Grande handle the rest. 

“Thank god,” Hannah muttered. “My ears are bleeding.” 

“Oh. And here I was, aiming for a singing career,” Michelle teased. “You are ruining my dreams, Quinn!” 

“Good. A hard doze of reality is what you need.” 

“She’s a harsh one,” I laughed. 

But by the time Michelle pulled up in front of the bar she had chosen, I was done laughing. 

As I got out of the car, I could feel that lump of sadness low in my belly. 

I knew this bar. I had been here before. 

One night long ago, I had been here, waiting for my friends who were running late. 

Hannah and Michelle chatted briskly as we entered the bar and found an available table. 

My eyes sought out the table in the corner as Michelle and I sat down, and Hannah went up to the bar to order drinks. I had sat right there, in that corner, waiting for Hannah and Michelle. I had been   
impatient and texted them. I could no longer remember the reason why they were running late that night. 

A guy had approached me, I remembered that. He had been creepy. He had sat down next to me. He had looked more at my chest than my face. I had been uncomfortable and unapproachable. 

That hadn’t phased him, and he had touched me inappropriately, like the creepy, drunk dude he was. 

And I had been saved. By the most unlikely person imaginable. 

“Sorry I’m late, sweetpea.” 

I could feel the phantom like touch of Greta’s lips on my cheek. 

“Have you waited a long time?” 

How confused I had been. I hadn’t understood what she was getting at. I remembered that. And I remembered how she had urged me to go along with it and say: “no.” 

“Oh, good. Traffic was awful tonight.” 

I almost chuckled. How smart she had been. Smooth. In control. And I had just been some dumb little girl she had saved. 

“I hope my liberties didn’t offend you. You looked uncomfortable.” 

“I was. That could have gotten really ugly.”

“I’m glad I could be of any help.” 

A chance encounter. A “right place, right time”-meeting. The briefest encounter. 

We had talked. I remembered that. She had asked me what I was doing here alone, and I had denied being alone and said that I was waiting for my friends. Which hadn’t arrived yet. So I was alone, as Greta   
cleverly had pointed out. 

I had been so captivated by her. So intrigued. 

She had been so beautiful. So perfect. So sophisticated. 

God, I missed her. 

“Can I buy you a drink? As a thank you for coming to my aid.”

Had she laughed? I couldn’t remember. But I was sure, her voice had been soft. Melodic. 

“That’s very kind of you, but I don’t drink. And I doubt this bar serves anything that’s alcohol free.” 

That had puzzled me. Why walk into a bar if you can’t drink? And why couldn’t she drink? 

Because she’s sick. 

“I’m Celine.” 

I had been overly polite and had extended my hand out to her. I remembered that very clearly. 

“Celine.” 

Her hand had been cold, and mine had been clammy. I had been anxious. 

“Greta.” She had said. And I could remember how I had found that name to be so very appropriate for her. Some people just fits certain names, I had thought to myself. 

“Are you sure I can’t buy you a drink?” 

“I don’t normally drink. But do you mind if I take a sip?”

What had I been drinking that night? I squinted. Something sweet. Some kind of drink I didn’t really like when it came to it. 

Strawberry. Strawberry Daiquiri. That’s what I had been drinking that night. 

And her request had confused me. “Sure.” 

“Thank you.” 

She had taken the straw between her lips and sipped my drink. I might have looked at her while she did it. Or maybe I had been looking away. I couldn’t remember. 

What had she been wearing that night? I couldn’t remember that either. I could just remember that I had been completely captivated and had felt like a child compared to her. 

“Thank you, Celine.”

“You’re welcome.” 

She had smiled at me. The first smile. Now that I knew how rare her smiles were, I wished I had cherished it a bit more. 

Michelle and Hannah had arrived, and I had been fully prepared to introduce Greta to them, but then she was gone. Like she was now. Here one moment and gone the next. 

She’s gone. She’s gone for good, and she’s not coming back. 

In the radio behind the counter, they were playing “She Will Be Loved”. 

I just wanted the floor to open and swallow me whole. I didn’t want to be here. I wanted to go home. I wanted.... I wanted Greta. 

I wanted something I couldn’t have. Something I had been denied. 

My fingers curled around the napkin lying on the table. 

This isn’t fair. Nothing about this is fair. 

“Celine? Celine?” 

I blinked and looked up. Michelle was talking to me, and judging by the look on her face, she clearly had been for a while. 

“What?” I asked and released my death grip on the napkin. 

“What’s going on? Are you alright?” 

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

“That’s not true,” Hannah said and dismissed my pathetic lie in a very sweet manner. “Talk to us. What is it?” 

I swallowed something and blinked. I did not want to cry. Not again. “This is...” my voice failed me, and I quickly cleared my throat. “This is the bar where Greta and I first met.” In January. Pretty soon it would be a year ago.

“Oh, shit,” Michelle said as she immediately reached across the table and took my hand. “We can leave right now if that’s what you want, Celine. We can find another bar, or we can go home and watch bad   
movies all night.” 

“No.” 

“Celine...” 

“No,” I said firmly and shook my head. Going home was the same thing as giving up. “No, we agreed to go out tonight, and that’s what we’re doing. Of course we’re staying.”

“Are you sure?” 

“Absolutely. Everything else would be ridiculous. I’ll be okay,” I assured them. “If I start avoiding places just because what happened there, I seriously have issues.” 

Michelle chuckled a bit. “I’m a woman, hear me roar.”

“Something like that,” I said with a watery chuckle. “I don’t know how to get over her right now, but I’m sure I’ll find a way at some point.” 

“She should have given you a proper explanation face to face and not a letter,” Hannah said gently and patted my hand. 

“She should have stayed,” I corrected. “But she didn’t. Instead she pulled a disappearing act on me and mistook it for protecting me. I’ll just have to live with that. I’ll just have to live with never knowing   
what could have been.” 

There was a moment of silence after that. Hannah and Michelle both looked at me, and it occurred to me that I had been a bit loud when I held my little speech. 

“I’ll be fine,” I amended. “I will. I just... I’m going to need a little time to get past this.” 

The problem was, that I didn’t want to get past this. Not really. Obviously, I didn’t want to keep reveling in self-pity, but I didn’t want to get over Greta either. 

She still had an iron-solid grip on me. And I couldn’t shake myself loose from it. 

I was stuck in this bar, while she was in Switzerland, waiting to either live or die. 

Waiting at some hospital. 

Or at some hotel. 

When a waiter came down with our drinks, I suddenly remembered the little note Greta had scribbled down. The little note I had seen that day I had come to her place to tell her about my involvement in the accident. 

Hotel.... Hotel.... Ar... Ad... As... 

I took a sip of my drink. It was Strawberry Daiquiri. I almost laughed. Of course it was. 

“Cheers,” Michelle said and flashed me a sad, little smile as she raised her own drink. 

“Cheers,” Hannah said and squeezed my free hand. 

“Cheers.” 

à votre santé. à la tienne.

Every little thing reminded me of Greta now. 

Maybe staying in this bar was a bad idea after all. 

I took a large gulp of my drink and coughed as it went down the wrong tube. 

My eyes watered slightly as I took a new and smaller sip of the drink. My throat hurt now. 

Everything hurt. 

My head was full of memories I couldn’t rid myself of. 

Did Greta even know what she asked of me when she wrote “forget about me”? 

I felt tempted to chuckle again. This was a fucking farce. Why couldn’t I just be bitter and wish that I had never met her in the first place? Why couldn’t I just curse her entire existence? 

Because I loved her. Fuck. 

I took another sip of my drink. It didn’t taste of anything. Or maybe it did. If it did, I couldn’t taste it. 

I’m a woman, hear me roar. Yeah right. I just wanted to curl up in my bed for a few hundredth years. 

“Bathroom,” I muttered halfheartedly as I sat my drink down on the table. 

Michelle and Hannah nodded. 

“I’ll be right back,” I continued, to amend a little. I didn’t want them to be worried about me. 

My heels clicked against the floor as I walked away from our table and into the tiny bathroom tucked away in the back. 

I groaned a little as I carefully dabbed my forehead with a wet tissue. This night out wasn’t working out the way I had hoped. 

Maybe I should have listened to Michelle. Maybe we should go somewhere else. 

Or maybe we should just go home. 

No. Going home is the same thing as giving up. 

I wanted to give up. I wanted to take off and leave this place for good. 

Like Greta had done. I wonder if she’s okay? She probably faked being fine that night when we... 

I squashed the wet tissue between my fingers. 

Is she seeing a doctor regularly? Is she eating enough? Drinking enough? Who is even looking after her? 

She had no one. She had told me so. 

She had me. But she didn’t want me. 

“I’m sick, Celine. Too sick for this to ever work out.” 

I felt sick too as I imagined Greta sitting alone, not knowing whether she was gonna live or die. Alone in some swiss hotel room. 

I dabbed the wet tissue over my wrists. I could see her. I could see her alone in that hotel room. 

Hotel... Hotel... An...Ad...Ar... Adriatica. Adriatica. That had been the name of that hotel. Now I remembered. That was the name Greta had scribbled down on that note. 

I couldn’t very well stay at the ladies’ room all night. Michelle and Hannah were already worried about me. Staying in here for too long wasn’t good. I didn’t want them to think I was having another panic attack. 

I threw the squashed tissue into the bin and then I opened the door and left the ladies room again. 

But I was barely out of the door before I managed to run straight into this poor guy. That’s how absentminded I was right now. 

“Oh, sorry,” I said as we both stumbled backwards. “That was my fault.” 

“Don’t worry, there’s no harm done. At least I wasn’t carrying anything, and... Celine?” 

“Allen?” I blinked. He was about the last person I had expected to run into, but here he was. Sandy blonde hair and hazel eyes. Dressed in jeans and a hoodie. Exactly like I remembered him. 

“Hey,” he said, and to my surprise, he was smiling at me. 

“Hi,” I said and nervously returned the smile. Was he not angry with me anymore? 

“Long time no see,” he said and scratched his chin. 

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” 

“Are you here alone?” he asked. 

“No, I’m here with the girls,” I replied and gestured awkwardly to Hannah and Michelle. 

“Oh. Right.” 

“Are you here alone?” I dared asking. 

He shook his head and nodded towards a brunette girl in a red sweater. “I’m here with Annie.” 

“Is she your....”

“Yes,” Allen answered before I could finish the sentence. “Yeah. Annie’s my girlfriend.” 

I smiled. Allen and Annie. 

“She looks sweet,” I said. 

“She is.” 

“I’m happy for you.” 

“Thanks,” he smiled. “What about you? Are you with anyone?” 

Once again, I felt this bizarre urge to laugh. God, if only he knew. “There was someone at one point,” I said. “But it didn’t really work out. She and I couldn’t...” 

“She?” Allen tilted his head in surprise. 

“Yeah. She.” 

“Oh,” he said. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you.” 

“Yeah.” So am I. More than you can ever know. 

“You deserve to be happy,” Allen said spontaneously. 

Now I was suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to cry instead. That was Allen alright. I wasn’t in love with him anymore, but I could fully understand why I had fallen for him. He was so kind and good. I   
hoped Annie could see that. Of course she could. 

“So do you,” I said and tugged a strand of hair behind my ear. “I was an ass towards you.” 

Allen chuckled. “And I didn’t take it very good, did I?” 

I shook my head. “That’s beside the point.” 

“I was pretty angry with you for a while,” Allen said honestly and chuckled again. “Until I realized that I was being an immature idiot.” 

“You weren’t. You had every right to be angry.” 

He shrugged. “We weren’t right for each other, were we?” 

“No, I guess we weren’t.”

“And I met Annie,” he continued and looked back at the brunette and smiled. “She’s amazing.” 

“I’m so happy for you, Allen.” 

“I hope you’ll work it out with...” 

“Greta,” I said helpfully. 

“Right. I hope you and Greta will work through things.” 

“That’s highly unlikely, but thank you,” I said and smiled meekly. 

“You deserve to be happy, Celine,” he said again. 

I smiled again, but this time it was a bit more of a wobbly smile. “So what now? Are you staying in Seattle, or...?” 

“Actually I’m going to New York. With Annie.” 

“Sounds like things are working out for you.” 

Allen chuckled. “Yeah. What about you? Are you staying here, or...?” 

“I don’t know. Everything is sort of hanging in the balance right now.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said earnestly. 

I shrugged. “I’ll figure it out. Eventually.” 

“I know you will,” he chuckled. “You are pretty resourceful.” 

I laughed. “It’s the Welles blood. I can’t help it.” 

Allen laughed too and gave my arm a quick squeeze. “I wish you luck. With everything.” 

“Thank you, Allen. And I’m sorry. For everything.” 

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, Celine. It’s all good.” 

I smiled as I watched him walk over to Annie and slip an arm around her waist. At least that ended well. I was glad that Allen was happy. He deserved that so much. My first love. My first everything. 

I felt a teensy tiny bit lighter as I walked back to the table and sat down next to my friends. 

“Was that Allen?” Michelle said. 

“Yeah, it was.” 

“Small world,” Hannah commented. “How was he doing?” 

“He was doing good. He has a girlfriend. Annie. And he couldn’t stop smiling,” I said and felt how I was smiling myself. “I thought he would be pissed at me, but he wasn’t. He was awesome.” 

“Well, that did look like a peaceful confrontation,” Hannah smiled. 

I grinned. “I’m so glad he’s happy. He deserves that.” 

I took a sip of my drink. I deserved to be happy too. Allen had said that. And he had said it twice. Because he knew me well enough to know that I was struggling even though I hadn’t said it directly. 

I sat my drink down again. It wasn’t quite as cold anymore. I drummed my fingers lightly against the table in rhythm with the beat as I replayed the conversation with Allen in my head. 

He wished me luck with everything. He hoped that Greta and I worked through it. 

That would be incredible if we could do that. 

“Do you guys mind watch my drink for two seconds?” I asked. “I just need some air.” 

“Sure,” Michelle said. “But maybe there won’t be anything left of it when you get back.” 

“Then I expect you to have replaced it with a new one,” I joked and whapped her arm on my way out. 

The night was chilly. I pulled at my leather jacket to wrap it a little tighter around myself as I leaned back against the wall and looked up at the dark sky. A cold wind was blowing around the corner, and it made my ponytail lift slightly. 

I released a puff of air as I scanned the night sky. I could see faint, flickering lights up there. Stars or planets? I wasn’t quite sure. 

Allen wanted me to be happy. 

I wanted me to be happy, too. 

I had been happy. Those five days with Greta in her houseboat were the happiest of my life. I had felt so light, so completely free. I had felt safe. Safer than I had ever been before. Greta had been the   
greatest source of happiness in my life. My paradise. My safe place. 

But Greta wasn’t here. She was gone. And she was sick. Very sick. So sick there was a chance she wouldn’t make it, I knew that, and everything in me recoiled at that image.

And she was also alone in some hotel. I didn’t want her to be alone. Not now, not ever. The image of her celebrating her birthday alone and not knowing whether it would be her last popped up in my   
mind. And there were those melancholic mornings I had spent with her, too. Now I knew why she had been melancholic. Not knowing how much time you have left must be.... 

I shook my head slightly and bit my lip. 

She shouldn’t be alone. Somebody should be with her and help her. I should be there to help her. 

Greta had gone to Switzerland and left me here in Seattle. 

My stomach tightened, and I shivered in the cold, foggy air. My breath was coming out in little, white puffs of air. 

It was wrong of Greta to leave me here. So very wrong. 

It was wrong of her to cast everything aside like this. It was wrong of her to force me out her life. A letter “explaining” everything wasn’t enough. I should never have tried to settle with that. I was too   
resourceful for that.

And I was wrong when I thought I didn’t have a choice or a say in the matter. 

Because I did have a choice. I could either stay here and know that the best thing to ever happen to me was gone......

My heart sped up in my chest and hammered against my ribs. 

Or I could risk everything and follow her........


	44. Chapter Forty Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm overwhelmed by the people who have commented and left kudo's on this story! Thank you! It truly means the world :)

It was like something heavy detached from my chest and disappeared.

It was like something clicked and fell into place. 

And I felt strangely enlighted- illuminated.

I’ve never had that many “aha”-moments in my life, but this was definitely one of those moments. 

I felt a new sense of peace when I allowed that idea to take root and grow in my mind. 

What if I followed Greta to Switzerland? What if I actually did that? What if I showed up and told her that a stupid letter wasn’t enough? 

My heart started hammering in my chest again. 

I could do that. I was actually more than capable of booking a plane ticket to Switzerland, going to her hotel and then wait for her. 

My tightly clenched fist opened. 

For the past month since Greta had left, I had been obsessed with what I could have said or done to make her stay. 

I had never considered this possibility. This second option. 

But now that I was considering it, everything just made sense. 

I had taken a lot of risks since I had met Greta, a lot of risks. Kissing her. Showing up at Hotel Ballard. 

I had taken a lot of risks, and most of them had been stupid.

This was stupid too, of course it was. It was ridiculous. Completely mad. 

But, as a wise young redhead once said in a movie: that’s why I trust it. 

I had to do this. There was nothing to it, really. It wasn’t a decision. It wasn’t even a choice. It was just something I had to do. 

I had to take one last risk. Possibly the biggest risk I was ever gonna take. 

I pulled at my leather jacket to wrap it a little tighter around myself. I had no illusions. I had no idea what was gonna happen if (when?) I showed up at Greta’s hotel. I didn’t even know whether she was gonna be in that hotel or not. I would have to take another risk and believe that she was. 

I could live with that. I could live with taking another risk. 

What I couldn’t live with, was the fact that Greta had left me with nothing else but a letter. 

Because no matter what, I deserved a proper goodbye. A proper explanation. A letter wasn’t good enough. 

What Greta and I had shared had been special. It hadn’t been just been a fling or a bit of excitement. I had been something genuine. Something real. 

The realest thing I’ve ever had in my life. 

And that deserved something proper. A goodbye? A second chance? 

I didn’t know. 

I just knew the answers weren’t here in Seattle. 

I had to go to Switzerland to get my answers. 

The decision roared in my mind. I’m going to Switzerland. I’M GOING TO SWITZERLAND. 

I’m being either incredibly stupid or brave and going to Switzerland. 

I was surprised the sky didn’t light up with shooting stars or firework or something like that. This sort of decision definitely deserved some grand recognition. 

Another cold wind blew around the corner, and I suddenly realized that I was still standing outside in the darkness. In the cold. 

I didn’t feel cold. I felt warm. Warm and determined. This was quite possible the biggest risk I was ever gonna take in my life, and there was definitely one or two people out there who would call it the most ridiculous decision ever. 

But I had never been so sure of anything in my life. 

Hell, I had been sure about Greta right from the start. Even before I knew about how our fates had intertwined one cold, foggy evening on Madison Street. 

And that was really something. I hadn’t been sure of many things in my life. I doubted myself a million times, I had doubted whether the choices I was making were good enough, I had doubted my ability to live up to my mothers’ high expectations, and sometimes, in my darkest moments, I had even doubted my mothers love for me. 

But I had never doubted Greta. Not once. Not ever. 

I took a deep breath and filled my lungs with cold, fresh air. 

This was the right thing to do. The only thing to do. My second epiphany when it came to Greta. The first one had been me, acknowledging that I was attracted to her. This epiphany was a bit bigger, but it   
still felt oddly familiar. 

I finally turned around and went back inside the bar. 

 

“Hey, are you okay?” Hannah asked as I sat down next to them. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I assured her and took a sip of my Strawberry Daquiri. It had gone lukewarm. 

“Are you sure?” Michelle asked and raised an eyebrow. “You look a little... Beside yourself.” 

I smiled a little. So the epiphany was obvious in my face. 

“That’s because I’ve gotten a crazy idea,” I told them and took another sip of the lukewarm drink. 

“Okay?” Michelle said intrigued. She was a huge fan of crazy ideas. “Spill it then?”

I chuckled evasively. Mostly because I wasn’t sure whether a bar was the best place to have this conversation. 

“What is it?” Michelle continued. “Are you cutting your hair off? Getting a huge dragon tattoo?” 

“What? No!” I said and half-laughed as I shook my head. “It’s nothing like that.” 

“Then what is it?” Michelle asked. “Come on, Welles. Don’t keep us in the dark.” 

“I’m pretty sure it’s better to take this conversation at your place,” I said. 

“Seriously?” Michelle groaned. “You can’t just say you have a crazy idea and then refuse to tell us anything!” 

“I’m not refusing to tell you, I’m just saying it might be better to wait until we get back.” 

“It’s something bigger than just a new hairstyle, isn’t it?” Hannah said and took a small sip of her own drink. 

“It is,” I confirmed with a nod. Something much, much bigger. 

“And something you won’t tell us,” Michelle complained. 

I chuckled. “I will. Later.” 

Yeah. It was better to wait until we got back. That would give me some time to find out how I was gonna break it to them. This was a huge decision, and I wasn’t quite sure what to say, and more   
importantly, how they were gonna react. 

I looked at them. There was a fair chance they would tell me I was crazy. 

I didn’t feel crazy, but crazy people never do, do they? 

The warm determination was still filling my chest. The reassurance that this was the right thing to do. 

I felt completely cocooned in that reassurance. I was so certain. So sure. 

So fucking sure. 

I had to put one hand on the table. It felt like I would levitate off the ground otherwise. 

I smiled widely at my friends as I suggested we headed out on the dancefloor. 

That night was a good night. We laughed a lot. None of us were drunk by the time we left the bar. We didn’t need to be. Alcohol wasn’t required to have a good time. 

And as we drove home, we jammed along to the songs on the radio like we had done on the way here. 

 

Diane was up and sitting in front of the television when we got home. She cast one glance at us, rolled her eyes at our giggle-y attitude, and then nonchalantly commented that we’ve had a good time. 

She was right about that. We did have a good time. 

All three of us said goodnight to Diane and then continued upstairs to Michelle’s room where an extra bed for Hannah had been prepared. 

“Okay, spill it, Welles,” Michelle demanded as she wiggled out of her tight jeans and replaced them with a pair of checkered pajama bottoms. 

I loosened my high ponytail and unzipped my boots. Then flopped back on the bed. It was strange. This decision had come to me like a lightening from the clear blue sky, and yet I was completely exhausted. Like my mind had been racing to get to this decision. 

“Come on,” Hannah said, and the makeshift bed creaked as she sat down on it. “Don’t keep us in the dark like this.” 

“It’s madness,” I warned. “It’s completely ridiculous.” 

Hannah raised an eyebrow. “Okay.” 

“Seriously, you’ll think I’ve gone completely insane,” I continued and almost chuckled. 

“Celine,” Michelle scolded mock-sternly. “Just tell us already! This is getting a little too exciting.” 

“Okay, okay,” I surrendered and kept my gaze fixated on the ceiling as I slowly said: “You guys know that Greta’s in Switzerland, right?” 

“Yeah?” Hannah said. “You told us.” 

“On this hotel Adriatica,” I continued and shifted so I sat cross legged on the bed instead. “ I mean, I think she’s still there. I chose to believe that she’s there. And the thing is...” I bit my lip as I considered   
what to say next. 

“The thing is what?” Michelle said a bit impatiently. “We already know she’s in Switzerland. A pretty wild stunt to pull on you if you ask m-” 

“Exactly,” I interrupted her and nodded. “I deserve more than a letter from her, don’t I?” 

“Definitely,” Hannah said firmly. “You do.” 

I nodded again. “And that’s why...” I swallowed and wetted my dry lips. “That’s why I’m planning.... That’s why I’m planning on going to Switzerland.” 

Michelle’s bedroom fell completely silent and Michelle and Hannah stared at me. 

I didn’t mind that. I had expected them to look at me like that. Of course they were surprised over this decision. Earlier this evening I had given the impression that I was trying to get over Greta. 

But now I knew that I couldn’t. Not like this. 

I ran my fingers through my hair and looked at my friends. “I don’t know what’s gonna happen when I show up in Geneva,” I told them. “I don’t even know whether she’s gonna be at the hotel or not. I just know that she and I aren’t done with each other. Not yet. Not like this. Illness or no illness, she can’t just dip out in the middle of the night and leave me with a letter. I deserve something else. Something   
that isn’t as half-assed as a letter.” 

“And are you gonna tell her that?” Hannah asked. 

“Damn right I am. If she doesn’t throw me out ass first, that is.” 

Michelle chuckled. “Do you think she would do that?” 

“I don’t know. Possibly.” 

The bedroom fell silent again, and I flopped back on the bed again. I felt oddly calm. Serene, even. If this was the wrong decision, my mind was doing one hell of a job in convincing me of the opposite. 

How could this be the wrong decision? No matter what, I would get some sort of answer in Geneva, and right now, an answer, a proper answer, not a handwritten answer was what I desired the most. 

“I know it sounds like complete madness,” I said. “But it just... It feels so right.” 

“It feels like some grand, romantic gesture a heroine in a book or a movie would do,” Michelle said plainly. 

I lifted my head and looked at her. 

She chuckled lightly. “I’m all for it. I’ve never seen you this mad about anyone before.” 

“Me neither,” Hannah said softly and flashed me a little smile. “I’ll admit that following her to Switzerland is a bit drastic, but...” 

“It’s romantic,” Michelle brushed her off and chuckled, but then grew serious: “And if she asks you to stay? You’ll see her be sick. Are you sure you’re ready for that?” 

“Yes,” I said plainly. “When it comes to her, I’m ready for anything.” 

Her illness would have some sort of outcome, I knew that, and as much as it hurt to think of the worst possible outcome, I knew that she shouldn’t face it alone. I would be there. I was gonna be there with her and help her through it all. 

If she didn’t reject me, that was. 

There was very real risk she would do that. But I would just have to live with that. Another rejection would be an answer. Not the answer I truly hoped for, I would gladly admit that, but never the less, it would be an answer. Maybe if I knew that there was no way it could be Greta and me, I would be able to “close that book” and move on. 

“You’re a brave woman, Welles,” Michelle said and smiled a little. 

“Or maybe I’m just incredibly stupid for refusing to let go?” I suggested. 

Michelle laughed at that. “Maybe that too.” 

I snickered as I shook my head. “You know what Allen said to me when I ran into him?” 

“What?” Hannah asked and tilted her head slightly. 

“He said he wanted me to be happy. He said I deserved to be happy.” 

“You do,” Hannah nodded. 

“Greta made me happy,” I said with a little shrug. “Those five days I spent with her in her houseboat were definitely the happiest of my life.” 

“In more than one way I’m sure,” Michelle interjected with a slight grin. 

“Wrong time to make a dirty joke,” I informed her with an eyeroll and grabbed the pillow. That served as a fine weapon to threaten her with. 

Michelle raised her hands in mock surrender. 

“And she can be as fucking self-sacrificial as she wants too,” I continued. “But I know that I made her happy too.” 

That was true. I could full well remember those smiles Greta had flashed me during my stay with her. Those smiles she had offered me, had been genuine. The way she had held me as we fell asleep had been genuine. 

She did feel something for me. She was just too scared to admit it because of her illness. 

And confessing to being scared didn’t strike me as “Greta-thing” to do. No, she would rather wall herself off completely and pretend to be ice cold. 

And yet.... She had cried during our last night at hotel Ballard. I had melted some of the ice. 

Maybe.... Maybe I could melt the rest of it too. Maybe I could coax Greta out of the Alexandra-façade she was currently hiding behind. 

I wasn’t one of her clients. I was someone who ran into her, and really, genuinely, truly fell in love with her. 

And I was going to tell her that. Amongst other things. 

She had done all the talking so far. Now it was my turn to talk.

“I know it’s drastic,” I said as I finally reminded myself not to get completely lost in my own head. “But if I don’t do this, I’ll regret it forever. I just... I can’t let her go this easily.” 

“You don’t have to convince us,” Hannah said and chuckled slightly. “You’ve already made up your mind.” 

“And you don’t think I’m crazy?” 

“Of course we do,” Michelle said helpfully. “But going on a romantic quest to Switzerland has nothing to do with it.” 

This time, I threw the pillow at her. “It’s not a romantic quest.” 

“It kind of is though,” Michelle laughed as she threw the pillow back at me. 

“No, it’s not,” I said firmly and tried to come up with some ridiculously clever answer. “It’s.... It’s.... my turn to talk. That’s what it is.” 

Michelle chuckled. “You’re going all movie heroine on her. Admit it.” 

“I’m not. I’m acting on a gut feeling,” I said. It wasn’t a completely satisfying answer, but it was the closest I could come to the truth. 

“Aren’t plane tickets crazily expensive?” Hannah asked and frowned. “I don’t know much plane tickets to Switzerland costs, but I have a feeling they’re expensive.” 

“And they probably are,” I nodded. “But I can handle that. Some of the money from my trust fund were released when I turned eighteen. It’s my money. I can do what I want with them.” 

Hannah nodded. “Okay. But if you need help with anything...” 

“I know,” I assured her and smiled at both of them. My friends. I didn’t know what I would have done without them. 

“You’re crazy, Welles,” Michelle laughed. 

“Yeah. I know,” I said with a chuckle. 

“You’re crazy, and you have my full support,” Michelle said. “And if she’s mean to you again I will be coming to Switzerland and kick her ass.” 

“I’ll make sure to tell her that,” I muttered and rolled my eyes.

After a bit of discussing my “upcoming trip” as Michelle called it, we settled down for the night. Or Michelle and Hannah did. 

 

I couldn’t sleep. 

With this epiphany, came a whole list of things to do. 

I would have to book a plane ticket. I would probably do that tomorrow. Another drastic too-fast decision, but I was gonna do it anyway. 

I had blundered around in Seattle for eighteen years, following rules that weren’t my own. 

It was time to change that. It was time I made my own rules for a change. I had long wanted to get out of Seattle. At one point, New York had been the dream destination, but really thinking about it, the destination hadn’t mattered. Not really. It was getting out of Seattle that was important. 

My dream of getting out of Seattle had everything to do with my mother. 

I sighed as I flipped onto my back and looked up at the ceiling. My mother. I would have to give her some sort of explanation too. 

I didn’t delve too much into whether she deserved one or not, I just settled for the fact that I couldn’t just leave the country without informing her. 

I didn’t really know how I felt about her. I hadn’t given her much thought lately. My thoughts had mostly been about Greta. 

But of course, I couldn’t keep avoiding my mother forever. It didn’t work that way. I couldn’t let it become this looming cloud over my head. That would only mess things up further.

No, I would have to talk to her. I had to face her. 

I had no idea what to say to her. The last time I had seen her, had been on graduating day, and we hadn’t spoken since I defended Greta. 

Where should I even begin? Where could I even begin? 

I didn’t know that. 

I just knew that I had nothing to apologize for. I wasn’t gonna apologize for ditching Harvard or leaving. And I was definitely not gonna apologize for being myself. 

If she couldn’t accept that I was bisexual, I couldn’t see how we were supposed to have a relationship in the future. 

If she couldn’t love me for who I was, but only for who she wanted me to be, then that was it for me. I was done. I wasn’t gonna fight for a relationship with someone who didn’t accept me. 

I puffed up my cheeks and blew air out. No matter what I said, I knew it was gonna be a difficult conversation with my mother. 

There was this massive rift between us, and I didn’t know if it were mendable. She was my mother, but things had to change drastically between us if I were to recognize her as that again. 

I rolled on to my stomach and buried my head in the pillow. It was unlikely that I would get any sleep tonight. My mind was too loud. It didn’t take long before my thoughts wandered to Greta. I wondered   
what she was doing right now. Was she asleep? Was she awake? Was she scared? Or was she still clinging onto her calm and cool façade? Was she okay? Was she in pain? Was she thinking about me? 

Okay, that last part was pretty narcissistic, but I couldn’t help it. I sort of wanted her to think of me. Just a little. Just a smidge. 

Then I wondered what her reaction would be when I suddenly showed up? On a scale on one to ten, how angry would she get? 

Or maybe she wouldn’t be angry at all. Maybe she would welcome me with open arms. 

That was definitely naïve, but that was the dream scenario. I wasn’t some heroine in a book, but I still wanted that happy ending. 

But most of all, I just wanted to be with her. Everything else could come eventually. I just wanted one more opportunity to hold her in my arms. One more opportunity to kiss her. One last chance to kiss her. 

I yawned quietly and turned my phone upwards. 3:45. Not ideal. I had been out drinking and dancing, and now I couldn’t sleep because my mind was running amok. I was not gonna be a functional human being tomorrow unless I fell asleep right now. And the chances for that to happening were very slim. 

I suddenly felt oddly anticipative. This was gonna be the journey of a lifetime. Literally. I had never been in Europe before. I had been in New York a few times with my mother when I was younger. But never abroad. Mother never really had time for holidays. 

And now I was about to embark on my own journey to a country I’ve never been in before. That was a little scary. 

But that was the thing about Greta. She made me do things I would never even have considered doing. She made me take risks. In many ways, she made me braver. 

Would I have dared standing up to my mother if I hadn’t met Greta? No, probably not. 

Would I have begun writing if I hadn’t met Greta? No, definitely not.

She had changed me. For the better. She made me feel like I was the very best version of myself. 

And I was incomplete without her.

I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling again. I really needed to get some sleep. But that was so difficult when I was still recovering from the massive epiphany I had earlier. It had hit me like a sucker punch, and I was still breathless because of it. 

I gave up on trying to fall asleep on my own and grabbed my phone and headphones. Music was the way to go. I was gonna need something to fall asleep to.

I propped my headphones into my ears and scrolled through my playlist until I found the song I was looking for: 

 

“There were bells on a hill  
But I never heard them ringing  
No I never heard them at all  
Till there was you  
There were birds in the sky  
But I never saw them winging  
No I never saw them at all  
Till there was you.”

 

I closed my eyes as Peggy Lee kept singing softly. Maybe this would be enough to lull me off to sleep. I hoped so. I desperately needed to sleep. 

 

“Then there was music and wonderful roses  
They tell me in sweet fragrant meadows of dawn and you  
There was love all around  
But I never heard it singing  
No I never heard it at all  
Till there was you....”

 

I could feel how my muscles gradually became more and more relaxed, and the last thing I heard before falling asleep was Peggy Lee’s smooth voice singing to me. It took me back to an afternoon in a houseboat. To a red velvet couch, and the beautiful woman sitting on it and “admiring” my poor dancing skills.


	45. Chapter Forty Five

It’s a well-known fact that you often think differently about a life-changing decision after a night’s sleep. 

Sometimes you take a step back. Reconsider. Is this really a good idea? 

Sometimes you even change your mind. 

That however, was not the case for me. Quite the reverse. 

I was more determined than ever when I woke up after too little sleep. I felt like I had been in the tumble dryer all night, but my decision about following Greta to Switzerland was still rock-solid. 

And I was thrilled about that. Some irrelevant little part of me had been worried sick that I would look at things differently when I woke up. 

But I didn’t. Nothing had changed since last night. 

I was lightheaded and completely beat after too little sleep, but I was still full of confidence. 

My headphones had tangled up sometimes during the night, and suddenly my most important job was to prevent myself from being choked to death by my own earbuds. After freeing myself from the danger, I rolled onto my back and stared into the ceiling. I was doing this. I was really doing this. 

I had a sudden urge to shout it from the nearest rooftop, but more importantly, I wanted to put the plans into actions, and I wanted to do that right now. Why wait? It felt like I had spent my entire life in some sort of waiting position. I had waited for something all my life. Something I hadn’t been able to pinpoint. I had waited to turn eighteen. I had waited to finish high school. I had convinced myself that that was what I was waiting for. 

But it wasn’t. I had waited to meet Greta. God knows our first meeting had let to a series of unforeseen events and a very bumpy road. But never the less, something had still clicked when I met her.   
A chance encounter. A simple, yet untraditional meeting at a bar, but god how that meeting had changed my life. Greta had turned my world upside down and had made me question everything. 

I wasn’t questioning anymore. I was done questioning. I felt as though I was finally awake after having been asleep for most of my life. And I was done waiting. Sometimes you just have to seize the moment and follow your instinct. 

I sat up in bed, draped the duvet around my shoulders and then rubbed the remains of sleep away from my eyes. Then I grabbed my laptop. It came alive with a soft “vrr”, and as soon as my desktop appeared on the screen, I went to work and started googling plane tickets from Seattle-Tacoma International Airport. 

I was eagerly scrolling my way through flight times when Hannah stirred and then made a sound I had learned to decipher as “I’m waking up” long ago. 

I looked up from my search just in time to see her roll on to her side and give me a rather sleepy look. “What’ you doing, Welles?” she half-yawned. 

“I’m googling plane tickets from Seattle to Geneva,” I told her, and my stomach did a little flip. 

“Seriously?” she asked sleepily. 

“Yep.” I said plainly. 

Hannah curled her pillow into a ball and whirled it straight at the sound asleep and unsuspecting Michelle. 

The pillow collided with Michelle’s face with a thud, and the response came instantly: “Ow! What the hell?” Michelle complained as she whirled the pillow in my direction. 

“Hey! It wasn’t me!” I complained as I ducked just in the nick of time. “It was Hannah!” 

Hannah chuckled, thoroughly satisfied with herself. 

“Whatever. I don’t care,” Michelle groaned. She quickly checked her phone and then cursed loudly. “It’s 8:30 in the morning, and I gotta punish someone for waking me this early.” 

“Punish Hannah and not me then.” I muttered and turned my attention back to the computer. 

“Why the hell are you guys up this early anyway?” Michelle complained and completely overheard my comment. 

“Celine is booking plane tickets to Switzerland,” Hannah said nonchalantly. 

Michelle raised on her elbows to look at me. “Really?” 

“Yeah,” I confirmed with a nod. 

“You’re sure,” Michelle said plainly. 

“Yeah. I am. I have never been more sure of anything,” I said and echoed what I had said yesterday. “I just have to do this.” 

Saying it out loud one more time felt good. It felt real, and once again I was overwhelmed by certainty. But also by this sense of yearning. I was yearning to see Greta, but I was also yearning to leave Seattle. I was yearning to embark on this adventure. A romantic quest, Michelle had called it. A crazy impulse, older and wiser people would call it. 

I didn’t know which one of those two categories this belonged in, I just knew that I was doing it. 

And I might have found something on my search for plane tickets. I stopped scrolling when I found a departure that actually looked rather promising. The journey would take twelve hours and twenty six minutes, and there was just one stop. In Amsterdam Airport. Amsterdam. I had never been in Amsterdam. But then again, I had never been to Geneva either. Here’s to new things and all that. 

“I think I found something,” I told my friends. 

“You did?” Hannah said as she freed her legs from the bedsheet and shuffled over to me. The makeshift bed creaked when she sat down next to me. 

“One stop and the price won’t make me completely bankrupt,” I said. I could easily afford a ticket home if......

No. I didn’t want to think about going home. Not now. Not yet. One thing at the time. 

“You have to hang out in Amsterdam Airport for an hour,” Hannah commented and frowned. 

“I’ll survive that,” I assured. “One hour isn’t that long. It’ll be fine.” 

“When’s the departure?” Michelle asked as she swung one leg out of bed. 

“It’s...” my jaw went a bit slack with surprise. Oh. Wow. 

“What?” Michelle said. 

“It’s tomorrow,” I said. My mouth suddenly felt rather dry. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. I could be on my way tomorrow. 

“Holy shit,” Michelle said. “That’s pretty soon.” 

“Yeah, it is,” I muttered and completely agreed with her. That was pretty short notice. Departure from Seattle Airport early tomorrow. And I had to be there two hours before to check in and all that. 

Which meant I had today to prepare myself for this. Today. One day. 

I looked at the duffel bag that contained most of my clothes. Diane was incredibly kind when it came to washing clothes that wasn’t her daughters. 

I was pretty much all set when it came to packing. 

Obviously, there was the mental part of it too, but what the hell, I could mentally prepare myself when I was sitting in the plane. The plane ride to Amsterdam took nine hours and forty one minutes. I would have plenty of time to prepare myself.

Do it, that little voice told me. Do it, do it, do it! 

And why the hell not? Seriously, what was holding me back? 

If I had to be totally reckless, why not do it properly and follow through? 

“You know what, I’m gonna do it,” I grinned as I eyed the blue “book ticket”-button. 

“You’re gonna book the plane ticket right now?” Hannah asked and chuckled behind me. 

“I’m going to book the plane ticket right now,” I confirmed and grinned even broader. 

“Do it, you crazy woman,” Michelle laughed and mock-cheered. “Do it, do it, do it!” 

She didn’t need to cheer. One little press on the button and one tiny confirmation of my name, email, and card details, and I was the owner of a plane ticket from Seattle Airport to Genève Aéroport. Departure tomorrow at 7:00. 

It felt oddly surreal to look at the plane ticket on my phone. Seeing the gate number and everything. I felt even more lightheaded than when I woke up. 

“I did it,” I said and for some reason I couldn’t quite stifle a giggle or two. “I fucking did it! I booked a ticket.” 

“Crazy woman,” Michelle said again, but she was smiling widely while she said it.

“Crazy woman acting on an even crazier gut feeling,” I laughed as I closed my laptop.

“Do you know what you’re going to say to Greta when you show up at her hotel?” Hannah asked. 

“Nope, haven’t got the faintest, but I’ll think of something,” I replied almost briskly. “Right now, I have to work out what to say to my mother when I show up at home to fetch my passport.” 

Michelle and Hannah exchanged a look, and I wholeheartedly agreed with their silent exchange. Announcing to my mother that I was going to Switzerland was gonna be interesting whether she yelled or not. 

“Do you want us to go with you?” Hannah immediately offered. 

“And work as buffers?” Michelle added. “Because we can totally do that. Like we did on graduation day.” 

I chuckled a little and shook my head. “And I love you for it, but I think it would actually be better if I handle this alone.” 

Michelle and Hannah exchanged another look, and I knew exactly why this time too. My previous exchanges with my mother hadn’t exactly gone smoothly. I hadn’t seen her since graduation, and I hadn’t spoken to her since when she asked me to “come home so we could talk about things”. And at that time, Hannah and Michelle had been with her. And the previous time, when I was home to grab my stuff,   
Greta had been with me.

This time, I was “confronting” her alone, and I had no idea what her reaction would be. I doubted she would be too happy about my announcement, but legally, she couldn’t prevent me from leaving. I was eighteen. I had every right to travel alone. I didn’t need her consent. 

But aside from the legal parts of it, I doubted she was gonna give me her “symbolic” consent to go Switzerland. 

Obviously, I would have to explain her the reason why I was leaving. Hell, I had to explain everything to her. That Greta had been the other driver. That she had been fatally injured in the car crash. 

Maybe I didn’t owe her the full story, but I was gonna share it with her anyway. I didn’t have to be closed off just because she was. 

Maybe putting some physical distance between us wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Maybe it would be a very good thing. Maybe physical distance was exactly what we needed to mend this rift. If it could be mended. 

“It’ll be fine,” I assured my friends. “She probably won’t accept that I’m leaving, but I am, and I think that’s the best thing I can do when it comes to me and my mother’s relationship. Or lack off.” 

“Yeah,” Michelle said plainly and nodded a little. 

I sighed a little. “I wish things could be different between her and me. That she could be a little more... supportive. With everything. The fact that I don’t want to be a doctor like her. And the fact that I’m in   
love with a woman. Age difference be damned.” 

“Asking your own mother to accept you is not unreasonable, Celine,” Michelle said. “It’s something she simply should do. Automatically.” 

“And who knows, maybe she will. Eventually.” I said. I knew that leaving instead of staying and working out my issues with her wasn’t cowardly of me. It was the right thing to do. I was well past the point of staying and talking. 

I wasn’t even sure I was angry with her. I had simply reached a point where the conflict with my mother wasn’t the most important thing. 

Not when Greta was facing this. Not when she was alone in some hotel.

The most important thing in the world, was getting to Greta. Everything else could wait. I would solve that along the way. Right now, Greta was what mattered. 

“Breakfast?” Michelle asked as she finally slipped out of bed. 

“Shower,” I corrected as I too hopped out of bed and reached inside my duffel bag to find a fresh set of clothes. 

 

The shower had some effect. Some. My head was still pounding due to the lack of sleep last night, but at least I felt a little fresher. A little more awake and alert. 

And ready for breakfast. I had booked a plane ticket, I had made a potentially life-changing decision before eating breakfast. I was definitely changing. Or evolving. 

“So? What’s next?” Michelle asked as we were munching our way through toast with peanut butter. 

“More coffee,” I joked as I poured myself a second cup of the steaming hot beverage. 

“Har, har, har,” Michelle said sardonically. “That wasn’t exactly what I meant, Welles.” 

“I know,” I said as I blew into the cup and then took a sip. “But I’m gonna needs lots and lots of coffee to be prepared for talking to my mother.” 

“You’re gonna do that right now?” Hannah asked and sat her coffee cup down with a little thud. 

“I’m going to need my passport,” I said and tried to shrug. “I’m leaving tomorrow. I can’t exactly postpone it for much longer.” 

“No, I don’t suppose you can’t,” Michelle agreed. “Are you sure you don’t want us to come with you?” 

“I’m sure,” I nodded and couldn’t resist to make a bad joke. “But if I’m not back within one hour I expect you to call the police.” 

“I’m going to pour coffee down your back,” Michelle threated plainly. Like she was talking about the weather and not threatening me with a second degree burn. 

I chuckled into my coffee. 

 

The air was chilly as I walked down the street. I was officially on the way back to my mother’s house, and my stomach felt like it was full of tiny little ice cubes.   
I reminded myself that this wasn’t dangerous. She couldn’t do or say anything that could prevent me from leaving. And if she tried, I had to stand up to her, like I had done twice before when I came to get my stuff. And at graduation. 

But Greta had been with me the first time, a tiny little voice in the back of my mind whispered. Her mere presence there had helped me. 

I wrapped my leather jacket a little tighter around me as I hopped on the nearest bus. The bus that would take me back to my childhood home. I could do this alone, right? I had to. And I had already decided to be calm. Even if she wasn’t. 

I blew air on my hands in an attempt to warm them. I would have to dig my gloves out of my duffel bag. And my winter coat too, it would seem. 

Sooner rather than later, the bus stopped in Queen Anne, and I hopped off, made sure my old key was still securely in my pocket, and then I continued my walk down the street. 

The little gate creaked as I opened it, and my booths clicked as I walked up the pathway towards my old house. The garden still looked as neat and tidy as ever. The bushes trimmed, the grass cut.   
Everything looked impeccable. 

And that big box of a house I used to live in. It looked exactly the same as when I left it. I didn’t know why, but for some reason, I had half-expected the place to look different. Simply because I felt so different.

My mother’s BMW was parked in the garage. So she was home. 

My key clicked in the lock and the door creaked as I pushed it open. My mother was the type of person who always locked the door whether she was home or not. 

Old habits die hard, I thought to myself as I wiped my booths on the mat. An ingrown habit, that was. Always remember to wipe your feet before entering the house, Celine. 

I walked into the big hallway. Everything was white and neat and tidy. Nothing new there. I was just about to head up the stairs when I caught a glimpse of something hanging on the wall in the living room. For a moment consumed by curiosity, I walked into the living room to see what it was. 

Oh. So something had changed after all. That was a new picture hanging on the wall. Framed and everything. 

It was a picture of me. Taken on Graduation Day. I was wearing that ugly yellow cape and hat, and I was smiling. Not at the camera. It looked more like my mother had caught me smiling over some joke I couldn’t remember anymore. 

How had I not noticed her snapping a picture of me? I wondered as I looked at the framed photo. It was a very good picture. Maybe even one of the best pictures ever taken of me. Even better than the one Michelle had snapped on me and threatened to send to Greta.

I wasn’t completely sure what to think of this. This wasn’t exactly what I had expected. 

I turned my back on the framed picture and walked back towards the stairs. I could hear my mother potter around in her office. It would only be a matter of time before she realized she wasn’t home alone. 

I walked up the stairs, down the hallway, pushed the door to my old room open and god it was strange to be back. The room looked exactly the same. Nothing had been touched. Not even the shirt still lying on the floor. That was definitely atypical for my mother. She was a tidy up kind of person. She would never leave a shirt lying on the floor.   
The floorboards creaked a bit as I crossed them and started going through my drawers to find my passport. I could almost see the ghost of myself furiously pack my bag. I could hear Greta refuse to address my mother as “Dr. Welles”. I had instantly picked up on that. She had called my mother “Mrs. Welles” and not “Dr.”. She had refused to let my mother set the tone. 

I had been highly impressed at it back then, and honestly? I still was. It took a brave woman to stand up against my mother. 

That soft spot on the stairs revealed that someone was coming upstairs. That didn’t take long. 

I continued my search for the passport, and I found it stuffed away between some papers when the door to my room opened. 

I turned around with the passport in hand. My mother was standing in the doorway. Neat and tidy as always in her pantsuit and her greying hair, appearing to be recently cut, in that perfect pageboy cut. 

“Celine.” She said, and her voice was coated with surprise. 

“Mother.” I parroted. My voice sounded.... well, toneless. It was strange seeing her again. It felt like it had been longer than it actually had. Two months. It had been two months since I last saw her.

“I hadn’t expected to see you here today,” she said, and she sounded a bit formal. 

“I had to find something in my room,” I said with a light shrug. 

“What are you looking for?” she asked, and the floorboards creaked as she walked closer. 

“My passport.” I said plainly and stuffed the passport into my pocket. 

She raised an eyebrow. “What do you need your passport for, Celine?” 

“I’m going on a little trip,” I told her. 

“And may I ask where you’re going?” she asked. Her hands were uneasy, I noted. She kept wringing them. 

“I’m going to Geneva,” I said truthfully. 

“To Geneva?” she echoed, and I could hear the disbelief in her voice. 

“Yeah,” I nodded, and continued before she could say anything: “There’s someone in Geneva who needs me.” at least I think she does. 

Mother’s mouth twisted a bit. “And this someone wouldn’t happen to be.... Miss Adams?” 

“Greta,” I firmly corrected. “And you’re right, it’s her.” 

“We saw her... At that restaurant, didn’t we?” mother asked. 

“We did.” I confirmed. So mother remembered seeing Greta on that restaurant where we had celebrated my eighteenth birthday. 

“Is that where you met her?” mother inquired and pursed her lips. 

“No, I knew her long before that. She was at the hotel where that conference was happening. We talked a lot while I was there. She even lent me a book.” I said truthfully. That had been the first little flicker between us. The abandoned book at the swimming pool.

My mother’s blue eyes narrowed slightly. “And might I ask why-“ 

“She’s sick.” I interrupted. “Greta is sick. She has Cardiomyopathy.” 

Mother looked at me. “Cardiomyopathy?” 

I nodded. “Idiopathic Cardiomyopathy. Her doctors aren’t sure why she developed it, but they think it might have something to do with the injury she sustained due to blunt force trauma after a car accident. A car accident that happened a year ago on Madison Street.” 

Mother looked at me again. “Did you say on Madison Street?” 

“She was the other driver,” I told her. “She was in the other car. I hurt someone. I hurt her.” 

My mother was stunned at that revelation. She looked at me with open mouth, but no words ever came out. 

“Did you ever ask about the other driver?” I asked calmly. I wasn’t trying to accuse her of anything. I was simply asking. 

“No,” she said. “My main focus was on you and your injuries.” 

“Okay.” I said plainly. 

There was a moment of silence between us. A moment where my mother never stopped wringing her hands. 

I ran a finger through my hair and wondered what to say next. The conversation between us was awkward, and the tension as thick as it had been the last time. 

“Why are you going to Switzerland?” mother asked. 

It was my turn to raise my eyebrow. “I just told you. I’m going to be with Greta.” 

“Is she asking you to come?” my mother asked, now tightlipped. 

Anger flared up inside me when I recognized the accusing tone. I silently counted to ten and reminded myself to remain calm. “No, she’s not.” 

“Craving it, then?” mother continued. “Is she somehow blackmail-“

“Stop.” I said before she could finish the sentence. It was the same old song she had been singing during our “confrontation” on graduation day. “Just... Just stop. She doesn’t even know I’m coming.” 

Mother remained tightlipped but didn’t say anything. 

“She isn’t just sick,” I continued. “She’s very sick. So sick she needs a new heart to survive. She’s on a waitlist in Switzerland.” 

“Are you going because you feel guilty?” mother asked. “Because you feel you somehow owe it to her?” 

Count to ten, count to ten, count to ten, I reminded myself and took a deep breath. “No. I’m going because I love her.” 

“You... You love her?” my mother echoed and looked like that never would have occurred to her otherwise. 

“Yes I do. Very much,” I confirmed and curled my hands into fists. 

My mother’s face turned slightly pale at my admission. 

“She’s very sick and I love her, so of course I’m leaving to be with her. It’s the right thing to do.” I said. It wasn’t up for discussion. I wasn’t asking her. I was informing her of my plan. 

She folded her arms across her chest. “How long are you gonna be away for?” 

“For as long as she wants me to stay,” I replied. I didn’t know how long that was, really. I could be on my way back to Seattle two days after I had arrived in Geneva. I could be forced to give up my search because she wasn’t in the hotel anymore. I knew this was a gamble. There was no way of telling what her reaction would be. If I found her. 

“And are you expecting me to just-“ 

“I’m not expecting you to do anything,” I interrupted. “I came here to find my passport and inform you of my plans. Consider that done.” 

“Celine-“ 

“Things haven’t been very good between us lately,” I said and interrupted her once again. “I think me leaving will be a good thing.” 

She lifted her head and looked at me. Blue eyes boring into brown ones. “I’ve never wanted things to get so complicated between us, Celine.” 

“No,” I said plainly. I didn’t know what else to say. 

“I think I’ve done many things wrong,” she said. “Especially when it comes to you. There are many things I wish I had done differently.” 

I just nodded. That would have been good. 

Her arms folded across her chest again, but this time it looked like she was trying to make herself smaller. She looked smaller. More vulnerable than I had ever seen her. 

“Striking you...” she said and shook her head. “Was one of the wrong things.” 

“Yes,” I said. The more she admitted, she shorter my answers became. I hadn’t expected this level of admittance, and I wasn’t completely sure why she was doing it. Was it general remorse, or was it simply because I had announced I was leaving?

“Does she love you, too?” my mother asked, and her mouth twisted slightly. 

“I don’t know,” I said truthfully. “That’s what I’m going to find out.” 

“When are you leaving?” she continued. 

“Tomorrow.” 

“Tomorrow? Celine-“ 

“You can’t stop me,” I said softly. “This isn’t a simple decision, mother. It’s something I have to do. I’d follow her to the end of the world if she asked me to.” 

“You’re only eighteen. You are not old enough to make those kind of decisions.” 

I shook my head. “But the thing is, I am. I’m old enough to love her. And I’m old enough to make this decision too. You don’t get to decide whether I’m old enough to do this or not. The only one who gets to decide this is me. And I have decided to leave and be there for her in any way I can.”

Mother opened her mouth again, but I beat her to it. I had never interrupted her as many times as I had right now, and it felt so unfamiliar and surreal. 

“I’ll help her through this,” I said, and my voice was low and calm. “If there is a through this. And if there isn’t.... I’m gonna be there through that too.” 

Another moment of silence between us. A moment where I for once allowed the thought about Greta not surviving take root in my brain. Everything in me protested and screamed at the thought, but I had to stop push it out of my brain. I had to accept that that was a possible outcome. I couldn’t just close my eyes and pretend that there was only one possible outcome. I couldn’t be naïve. 

“Are you completely sure you know what you’re doing?” my mother asked. 

“No,” I said truthfully. “But that’s okay. You don’t have to know what you’re doing all the time. It’s alright to do something that may seem crazy once in a while, mother. And maybe this is crazy. But crazy doesn’t necessarily mean wrong. I know you think me and Greta’s relationship is that, but you know what? It isn’t. It’s completely right. Nothing has ever been more right. When I’m with her, I don’t feel lost. Or alone. Or compelled to do what other people want me to do. She has seen me exactly as I am, and she was completely satisfied with that. She has never tried to change me or convince me to be someone I’m not. She let’s me be me. As I am. If there’s anything I’m sure of... It’s her.” I took a deep breath. I knew I was rambling, but I didn’t care, and for once, my mother didn’t interrupt my rambling. 

“I feel like the best version of myself when I’m with her,” I said and ignored the lump forming in my throat. “The real version.” 

Mother looked stunned. And she clearly didn’t what to say. 

I did. And I didn’t hesitate to speak again: “I’m not you, mother. I don’t want to be a doctor. Or be crazily successful or adored by my co-workers. My only ambition is to be happy. Greta makes me happy. It’s as simple as that.” 

And with that, I finally turned around and walked back down the stairs. I felt completely in awe. I had just said all of that to my mother, and she hadn’t interrupted me. Or belittled me. 

She caught up with me at the bottom of the stairs, and for a moment I imagined her trying to either verbally or physically preventing me from leaving the house. 

But she didn’t. Instead she said two words I had yearned to hear for so long, but never would have expected her to say. Ever. 

“I’m sorry.” 

I stopped with one hand on the doorknob and waited. But the apology wasn’t followed by a “but I only...” or “I did what was best for you.” 

No cover up followed the apology. It was an apology and just that. 

And to my surprise, I had no idea how to respond to the apology. My mind went completely blank, and I struggled to connect the words I’m sorry with my mother. 

But she had said it. I was a hundredth percent certain of that. I had heard it with my own ears. 

I turned around and looked at her. She didn’t look overbearing. Or dissatisfied. Or disappointed. She looked... She looked like me. 

I recognized that expression on her face. I had seen it on my own face a million times. For a moment, she looked exactly like the lost girl I so often had felt like. 

And I had no idea what to say to that. 

So I didn’t say anything. 

Instead I offered her a smile. A tiny thing. The best thing I could muster right now. I had to start somewhere, and a smile seemed like the best way to start. 

She smiled back, and it wasn’t one of those self-satisfied smile I so often had seen on her face. This one was genuine. 

It would take more than just a smile to fix this, I knew that. It would take many, many conversations and lots of hard work to mend the rift between us. 

But this was a strong indicator that it was mendable. 

I could live with that for now.


	46. Chapter Forty Six

I felt completely light as I left my mothers house. 

I didn’t know what I had expected when I entered my childhood home, but this was far, far better than what I could have hoped for. 

There was hope. I knew there was. 

And right now, a small flicker of hope was all I needed. 

She hadn’t tried to stop me. She had barely tried, really. And she had apologized. For the first time in my lifetime, she had actually apologized to me. 

I felt slightly lightheaded as I walked down the pathway and then out on the street. I ended up colliding with several passerby’s as I hopped on the bus that would take me back to Michelle’s place. That was how distracted I was. 

I fished the passport out of my pocket and looked at it. Now I was really ready to go. Literally. There was nothing physical that could stop me anymore. 

I was really leaving. By this time tomorrow, I would be sitting in an airplane. Or maybe I would be sitting in Amsterdam Airport. One of the things. Planes could be delayed. That wouldn’t be the first time. 

But either way, now I was really ready to leave. Officially. I’m leaving on a jet plane. 

I was still trying to wrap my head around that. 

Not so long ago, I was definitely not a spontaneous person. Quite the reverse. And here I was, going to Geneva. I was following a woman who had asked me to stay away from her. Multiple times. 

If that’s not spontaneous, I don’t know what is. 

My spiraling thoughts faded into nothing when I realized that I was still sitting and staring at my passport like an idiot. 

I quickly stuffed it back into my pocket and tried not to fiddle with my hands as the bus drove back towards North Queen Anne. 

I had entered my mother’s house with an unbearable phantom weight on my shoulders, and I was leaving feeling lighter than I had done in well- forever. 

This was quite possible the nicest conversation I’d ever had with my mother. And she had barely said anything. 

I had finally found a way to stand up for myself and say what I wanted to say. 

I was sure she hadn’t just apologized because I was leaving. No, she was really apologizing. It had been sincere. 

I leaned back against the buss seat and closed my eyes. I had exactly twenty minutes before the bus arrived in North Queen Anne, and even though I had little hope about falling asleep during the short trip (I was far too giddy for that), it was still nice to lean back and relax a little. 

 

I almost collided with two people again as I went inside Michelle’s home. 

She and Hannah were waiting for me at the door, and Michelle even had her phone ready. 

I chuckled slightly at that. 

“I was a hundredth percent ready to call the police,” she told me and waved the phone at me. 

“I don’t think that’s gonna be necessary,” I said and wriggled out my feet out of my booths. 

“Did you get your passport?” Hannah asked. 

“Yep.” I thrusted one hand into my pocket and found said passport. “And I also spoke to my mom.” 

“And what did she have to say?” Michelle asked and raised one eyebrow. 

“Not that much. I did most of the talking,” I told her and wriggled my feet slightly. I should not be allowed to walk in high heels. 

“How was she?” Hannah asked. “Was it okay, talking to her?” 

“Well, at first she was her usual, defensive self,” I said with a little bubbly laugh. “She even asked me if Greta was making me come to Geneva.”

“Seriously?” Michelle groaned and rolled her eyes. “What did you say to that?” 

“I told her that Greta wasn’t making me do anything. And then I told her that I love Greta.” 

“And the house didn’t blow up?” Michelle asked with feigned surprise. 

“The house is still standing,” I said with a dry laugh. “But she did look rather surprised.” 

“Did you tell her everything?” Hannah inquired and flicked her red hair behind her ear. 

“Yeah. Well, almost everything. I told her that Greta got badly injured in the accident, that she needs a new heart to be okay again.” I said and scratched my chin lightly. “She was surprised. I don’t think   
she had even considered what had happened to the other driver.”

“And she wasn’t protesting when you told her you’re leaving?” Michelle asked.

I shook her head. “I told her that trying to stop me would be fruitless. I had already made up my mind. Nothing she could have said or done would prevent me.” 

“Wow.” Michelle said plainly. 

“Yeah, I know,” I laughed. “I feel completely high on adrenaline.” It felt so damn good to finally having said what I wanted to say. 

“So, what happens now?” Hannah asked as she elegantly hopped up on the kitchen table and sat down. 

“Now I’m going to Switzerland.” 

Hannah rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I know you’re going to Switzerland, dummy. I caught as much.” 

Michelle snickered. 

“I meant between you and your mom,” Hannah continued and ignored Michelle. 

“I don’t know,” I said truthfully. “I think everything is pretty much up for grabs right now. And not just the thing between me and my mother. But she did apologize to me.” 

“You’re kidding me?” Michelle said, while Hannah whistled quietly. 

“Nope.” 

“Wow.” Michelle said again. “I don’t think she’s ever-“ 

“She hasn’t,” I interrupted. “I consider that to be development. And I also consider it to be enough for right now.” 

Long conversations between me and my mother would have to wait. Right now, my main focus was getting to Greta and see if I could do anything there. 

And if I couldn’t...

No. I would think about that when I got to Geneva. One thing at the time, Welles. 

“So, you’ve got your passport,” Hannah interrupted my train of thoughts. “Excellent. Now, we’re busy.” 

“We are?” I asked and blinked. “Why are we busy?” 

“We need to get your things packed. Properly.” 

“But my things are already-“ 

“No, they’re not. They’re thrown into your duffel bag,” Hannah scoffed dismissively. 

“Why does that matter?” 

“Because it does,” she brushed me off and hopped off the kitchen table. “Now come on.” 

“I think someone’s is nervous about your trip and tries to mask it with effectivity,” Michelle theater whispered. 

Hannah glared at her. 

But I just chuckled as I followed her upstairs. If Hannah insisted that I repacked, so be it. 

And repacking was exactly what we ended up doing. 

Once all my clothing were neatly folded and my laptop securely placed in my duffel bag, Hannah was satisfied, and it was time to have some lunch. 

“What time should we set our alarms for?” Michelle asked as we munched our way through lunch. 

“What?” I asked and swallowed a piece of that bread I was in the process of eating. 

“What time do you need a lift to the airport?” Michelle clarified. 

“Oh.” Now I realized what she meant. 

“Don’t rely on the busses,” Hannah interjected. “They never leave on time.” 

“I know they don’t,” I assured her. “Which is why I’m planning to rely on something else.” 

“What’s that?” Michelle questioned. 

“My car.” I replied, and it felt like my stomach did a flipflop. 

Both Hannah and Michelle stared at me. 

“Your car?” Hannah asked, and her eyes widened. “Do you mean you’re...?” 

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m gonna drive to the airport. On my own.” 

I had thought about it since I walked up the pathway to my old home. My eyes had lingered on the garage door for a bit longer than normally, and I had thought and thought about the little, red car in   
there. It was just standing there collecting dust.

It was almost two years since I last drove. Almost a year since the accident. Almost a year since mine and Greta’s path had crossed the first time. 

I couldn’t avoid driving forever. Eventually, I would have to get back on the road again, and what better time to do that than now? 

It felt almost a bit symbolical, driving to the airport, to follow Greta. 

I could do that, right? 

Yes, I could. I could climb into my car and drive to the airport. 

There are some fears that can only be beaten by facing them, and that was exactly what I was planning on doing. I was going to face my fear and do it anyway. 

“Who are you, and what have you done with Celine?” Michelle asked. 

I snickered a bit and took a sip of my water. “There are certain things that can’t be avoided forever.” 

“Do you want us to come with you?” Hannah offered. Just like she had offered this morning when I was about to “face” my mother. 

And once again, my answer was the same. 

“No,” I said and shook my head. “I think this is something I have to do on my own. I hope that makes sense.” 

“It does. Totally,” Michelle said and reached across the table. She squeezed my hand. “Holy crap, Welles,” she said plainly. 

“Yeah.” I wasn’t entirely sure what she meant by that, but I was totally with her on that one. 

The rest of that day went by surprisingly fast. We didn’t do anything major. We actually ended up watching Netflix for the most of it, but the time still went by fast. I kept mentally checking that list within   
my head. Had I remembered everything? Was there something I had forgotten? 

But there wasn’t, and I knew that. I was just nervous. And I had every right to be. After all, there was no way of telling how Greta would react when I suddenly showed up. 

Would she ask me to leave again? 

I hoped not, but I couldn’t be sure. I desperately wanted to believe that my surprise appearance would be enough to melt that block of ice she was shielding herself off with. I hoped I could break down the   
wall she had rallied around herself. But there was just no way of telling. There were no guarantees. 

I knew this was a gamble, and I was only now beginning to realize how big a gamble. 

We went to bed earlier than normally. Technically, Michelle and Hannah didn’t have to go to bed at the same time as me, but they insisted on doing so anyway. 

“And wake us before leave,” Michelle instructed as she shuffled under the covers. “There’s no sneaking off in the middle of the night.” 

“Fine. I’ll wake you and ruin your night of sleep too,” I joked. 

“Are you kidding me,” Michelle snickered. “I can easily go back to sleep. You know that.” 

“Oh yeah.” I still clearly remembered that night where she had managed to fall asleep on a train. Hannah and I had almost yelled at her to wake her, and it hadn’t worked at all. She had slept peacefully as   
the train had passed the station we were supposed to get off at. That had been an eventful train ride. 

“G’night, Welles,” Michelle said as she flicked the little nightlight off. 

“Goodnight,” I replied. But I had absolutely zero beliefs about actually falling asleep. 

How could I possibly go to sleep? My stomach was tying in knots and my head was spinning. 

I was anxious about the flight. I had never been on a plane for that long. I was anxious about blundering around in Amsterdam Airport. I was scared that I would somehow miss my plane and end up stuck   
in Amsterdam. 

And brushing that aside, and assuming that I was actually going to catch my flight to Geneva, I was anxious about seeing Greta again. I was anxious that it wouldn’t be enough. I was anxious that nothing   
had changed. That she would turn me away again. 

I was scared that all of this was gonna be in vain. And I was anxious that she wouldn’t even be at that hotel anymore. 

I rolled onto my stomach and mashed my face into the pillow. I had to try and find my “calm place”. Which was a bit difficult, seeing how my calm place wasn’t really a place. It was a person. And that   
person just so happened to be in Switzerland at the moment. 

 

After what definitely was too little sleep, my phone started buzzing under my pillow. I was already partially awake, so it didn’t take me long to respond to the sound and make my phone stop vibrating. 

A million butterflies immediately invaded my stomach as I de-tangled my legs from the bedding and shuffled out of bed. This was it. My little red car was waiting for me. Waiting for me to get behind the   
wheel and drive to the airport. 

I wasn’t really there as I got dressed in a pair of jeans, a tanktop, my usual checkered shirt and one of my beanies. I zombie walked into the bathroom. Realized that my duffel bag with all my things were   
still in Michelle’s bedroom. Zombie walked back. Dug up my toothbrush and deodorant. Zombie walked back into the bathroom. 

I brushed my teeth quickly but thoroughly. I had a nasty metal taste in my mouth, and I hoped a bit of toothpaste could relieve that. Then I sprayed myself with the deodorant. Twice. Stole a bit of   
Michelle’s mascara and applied it to my lashes. I felt like a zombie, but I didn’t have to look like one. 

After putting the stolen mascara wand back where it belonged, I stuffed my toothbrush back into my duffel bag and “slept walked” back into Michelle’s bedroom. 

Both of my friends were still peacefully asleep, and I felt awful for waking them. But a promise was a promise, so I gave Michelle a soft nudge. 

“Mmmm, no, Sebastian,” she muttered. 

I chuckled croakily at that. “Not Sebastian, sorry. Just me.” she was clearly dreaming about the guy she had danced with at our graduation party. That was a little amusing. 

“Mmmm,” Michelle mumbled again. 

“I’m leaving now,” I told her and gave her exposed elbow a little squeeze. 

“Wha’?” She asked as she finally opened her eyes and looked at me. 

“I’m going to the airport now,” I clarified.

“Oh.” She immediately became a bit more awake, and then a wicked grin spread on her lips as she pushed herself up into a sitting position, grabbed her pillow and mashed it into a ball. 

“Don’t,” I warned with a whisper. 

But the warning was wasted. Michelle hurled the pillow straight at Hannah. 

“Ow!” Hannah immediately complained. “What the hell?” 

“Payback’s a bitch,” Michelle teased, but then she grew serious again and said: “Celine is leaving now.” 

Hannah raised her head and looked at me. “Are you sure you don’t want a ride?” 

“Absolutely,” I assured her. 

“Call us when you get there. No, scratch that. Call us when you reach Amsterdam.” 

“I will.” 

“And call us when you arrive in Geneva,” Michelle added for good measurements. 

I chuckled. “That too.” 

“Don’t let her turn you away again,” Hannah said seriously. 

My laughter was thickly this time. “Let’s hope I’m capable of knocking some sense into her. Otherwise it’s gonna be one very short trip to Switzerland.” 

Michelle gave my hand a soft squeeze. “Get over there and give her a piece of your mind, Welles.” 

I laughed again. Just a bubbly little thing. Speaking my mind to my mother was one thing. Speaking my mind to Greta was something entirely different. Was I even capable of that? Wouldn’t I just turn into   
a babbling fool the moment I laid eyes on her? 

I didn’t really know. It’s all up for grabs. 

“Do you have your passport?” Hannah asked. 

I patted my pocket. “Yep.” 

“Boarding pass?” 

I waved my phone at her. “Yes, ma’am.” 

“Then you’re just dragging this out,” she concluded. 

“Maybe I am,” I agreed and laughed. 

“Get out of here, Welles,” she said plainly. 

“Okay. I will.” 

“And rest assure both of us will come to Switzerland and kick her ass if she’s mean to you again,” Michelle added dangerously. 

“She hasn’t been mean to me, Michelle,” I said and snickered. “Not really.” 

“Whatever,” Michelle said. “Anyway, we love you, you know that, right?” 

“I love you too,” I smiled. 

“If you really love me, then get out of here,” Hannah teased. “Time’s ticking.” 

“Alright,” I said and rose from my kneeling position at Michelle’s bed. “I’m leaving right now.” 

“Good luck,” Michelle said and squeezed my hand. 

“Thank you.” 

“Love you,” Hannah said when I reached her bed. She quickly sat up and gave me a half-hug. 

“Love you too.” 

I swallowed the massive lump in my throat, grabbed my duffel bag and slung it over one shoulder. It was time to leave. 

A short bus ride later, I was standing in front of my mother’s house again. The house looked dark and the curtains were drawn, of course they were. This was a little early. Even for my mother. 

This time, I didn’t walk up to the front door. Instead I went round back and opened the garage door, hoping the sound wasn’t loud enough to wake my mother. 

There it was. My little red car. My faithful little red car. My little red car with the bumps on the hood. A stark reminder of the collision. 

My heart sped up and my steps echoed as I walked closer to the car. It felt almost surreal to reach out and put my hand on the shiny red paint. For almost two years, I had stayed far, far away from the   
garage and my little red car. 

Not anymore. I had to do this. And I had an inkling, that if I didn’t do this now, I would never be able to get into that car and drive. 

I reached into the old duffel bag slung over my shoulder, and deep within the side pocket, I found what I was looking for. My car keys. That was where I had “hid” them quite a while ago when I was certain   
I was never gonna drive again. 

I pressed the button on the key once and the car made a sound, indicating that the doors were now unlocked. 

With a heart that hammered away with a hundredth kilometers per second, I got into the car and tossed the duffel bag onto the passenger seat. I put my hands on the wheel and closed my eyes. I was instantly overwhelmed by flashbacks from “that” night. That wet, foggy night. I had been in a good mood that night. I remembered that. I had been jamming along to songs on the radio. The radio had still been playing when the ambulance drivers had dragged me out of the car. I remembered that. I couldn’t remember which song, but I could remember hearing the sound of music mixed with the ambulance drivers’ questions. 

I opened my eyes again. My hands were still resting on the wheel. It was now or never. Either I kept sitting here and allowed myself to be consumed by the flashbacks, or I got a move on. 

I chose the second option. The engine came alive with a soft roar as I twisted the key once. 

My heart sped up, but I refused to panic now. I didn’t have time for that. I could damn well panic when I was in the airport. 

“Come on, Welles,” I muttered to myself. “No chickening out now.” I couldn’t chicken out now. I had come too far for that. And if I didn’t do this now, I would never be able to do it.

I put one foot on the gas pedal and very slowly I steered the car out of the garage. 

So far, so good, I thought to myself. Now I just had to turn the car around and get out on the road. 

And that went surprisingly well. I turned the car around, and as I did, I saw the lights were on in my mother’s bedroom. She was peering out from behind the curtain. I knew that she had seen me, but I didn’t really know how to acknowledge her. So I did what I had done million times before the accident. I flashed my lights twice to indicate that I was leaving. 

Was she smiling? I couldn’t be certain, but I chose to believe that that was the case. 

I put my foot on the gas pedal again and steered the car away from my mother’s house. 

It didn’t take long before I made it to WA-99 S, and I once again felt lightheaded. This was so fucking surreal. I was driving. I was actually driving. I had no idea how I was doing it, but I was. I was driving my car. I was on my way to the airport.

I shook my head. It was impossible to fathom that this was actually happening. 

I had a massive lump in my throat, and the nausea was swirling around in my stomach, but my hands were steady on the wheel. And my foot on the gas pedal, ditto. 

There were a few other cars on the road. A van overtook me, and for a moment, I could feel the panic swirl within me and threaten to boil over. 

I took a deep breath. You’re okay. It’s okay. It was just a van. Nothing happened. You’re on your way to the airport, remember? You can’t be delayed. 

I choked down the panic and took another deep breath. That had been nerve wracking, and I needed to calm down. I needed to be distracted. 

The best way to do that, was by turning the radio on. I switched around between the different channels before I found a song that almost made me come to a full stop in the middle of the road. 

 

“All my bags are packed  
I'm ready to go  
I'm standin' here outside your door  
I hate to wake you up to say goodbye  
But the dawn is breakin'  
It's early morn  
The taxi's waitin'  
He's blowin' his horn  
Already I'm so lonesome  
I could die...”

 

I laughed out loud, and the sound of my voice blended with the song and filled the car. Talk about one hell of a coincidence. It was almost too good to be true. 

“So kiss me, and smile for me, tell me that you’ll wait for me,” I sang along and turned the volume up. “Hold me, like you’ll never let me go. ‘Cause I’m leaving on a jet plane, I don’t know when I’ll be back again. Oh, babe, I hate to go...” 

Now I felt even more sure that this was the right thing to do. I switched the volume up a notch again. 

“There's so many times I've let you down  
So many times I've played around  
I tell you now, they don't mean a thing  
Ev'ry place I go, I'll think of you  
Ev'ry song I sing, I'll sing for you  
When I come back, I'll bring your wedding ring  
So kiss me and smile for me  
Tell me that you'll wait for me  
Hold me like you'll never let me go  
'Cause I'm leavin' on a jet plane  
Don't know when I'll be back again  
Oh babe, I hate to go.”

 

John Denver was definitely doing a better job at singing, but I couldn’t quite resist singing along. It had been such a long time since I had been driving in my car, jamming along to songs on the radio, and oh, how I had missed it. 

I hadn’t really considered what to do with my car as I parked it and slung the duffel bag over my shoulder once more. I then climbed out of the car. Walked a few steps towards the airport. Turned around to look back at the little red car standing amongst the other cars. Maybe it would be towed away. Maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe I would be there to drive it home in a few days. 

My stomach churned painfully. I hoped that wasn’t the case. I hoped I wasn’t on my way back in a few days. 

I turned my back on the car and walked towards the airport. 

There wasn’t that many people, but the airport was definitely not empty either. I walked up to the nearest desk. Showed my boarding pass and pass port. Got checked in. I didn’t have to be separated from   
my duffel bag. I could take that as a carry-on item. 

Then I settled down on one of the seats. Now all I could do was wait. 

 

And I did. For two hours. 

I slept and woke up. In panic, because I was convinced that I had missed my plane. When I found out that that wasn’t the case, I went back to sleep again. 

I woke up again. Still in panic because I thought I had missed the plane. 

That happened a few times. Six, to be exact. 

But I was wide awake when a voice over the speakers announced: “All passengers to Amsterdam, please go to gate number...” 

I quickly grabbed my duffel bag and hurried along to the correct gate. 

I felt like I was in some sort of haze as I stood in line with the other passengers. Most of them looked like people going to Amsterdam on business. I was the only one who travelled blindly, so to speak.

Finally, it became my turn to step up to the platin blonde stewardess and show my boarding pass. I felt irrationally nervous as she looked at my boarding pass. 

“Thank you, have a good trip,” she said mechanically and flashed me an equally mechanical smile as she handed the boarding pass back to me. 

“Thank you,” I whispered. My fingers trembled slightly as I took the boarding pass, stuffed it back into my pocket and then hurried down the corridor that would take me to the plane. 

I still felt completely dazed and fumbled more than necessary as I found my seat. I stuffed my duffel bag under my seat. I wasn’t sure whether that was allowed or not, but I was confident that a   
stewardess would inform me if it wasn’t. 

My fingers were still trembling as I buckled my seatbelt. Apparently, this was a window seat. Huh. I hadn’t exactly paid attention to that when I ordered the plane ticket yesterday. 

I quickly switched my phone off like I was supposed to. I didn’t have a lot of experience with flying, but I wanted to be a good passenger. 

Then I leaned back into the plush comfort of my seat and closed my eyes in an attempt to calm myself. My heart was racing, and my palms were sweaty. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome on this flight to Amsterdam...” 

I zoned out as another stewardess informed us about the safety on this plane. Including oxygen masks and water evacuation. I kept my eyes firmly closed. 

I’m sitting in a plane. I’m on my way to Amsterdam. And tomorrow I’m on my way to Geneva. How fucking insane is that?! 

My mothers’ words echoed in my head. Are you sure you know what you are doing? 

Yesterday, my answer to her had been no, followed by a speech about sometimes taking risks. 

But maybe, I did know what I was doing after all. I was going to find the woman I loved and tell her a thing or two. 

I smiled a little. 

I must have dozed off again, because when I opened my eyes, the stewardess was no longer telling me and the other passengers about the safety on the airplane. She was gone. And in a moment, so was the airport and Seattle. 

I quickly leaned forward and looked out of the window. The plane was moving. We were slowly driving down the runway. My stomach flipped again. 

Faster and faster we “rolled” down the runway. My hands were completely clammy, and I wiped them on my jeans. Closed my eyes. I wished I could text the girls right now. Tell them that we were about ready for....

And takeoff! 

My train of thoughts were disrupted, and my stomach didn’t quite follow as the plane took off. My eyes snapped open and I looked out of the window once more.

We were very much in the air, as they say. The airport quickly disappeared. Seattle turned into a tiny dot. 

If it hadn’t been for the other passengers, I would scream. A massive grin spread on my face. I was flying. In a plane. I was fucking flying. I was actually, seriously on my way to Geneva. Well, Amsterdam   
first, and then Geneva. I was really following her.

There was no stopping me now.


	47. Chapter Forty Seven

If I felt dizzy and zombie like when I left for the airport, it was nothing compared to how I felt when I arrived in Amsterdam Airport. It felt as though my head was still floating, and I had absolutely no idea what time it was. 

But I knew where I was going. And dazed or not, I managed to find the right place to wait. I had managed to fall asleep on the plane to Amsterdam, and while it had seemed like a good idea at the time, I was beginning to regret it slightly now. I felt completely squashed. So squashed, I was beginning to question this self-chosen mission. Was it really a good idea? Wasn’t I just some silly girl who pined after someone who didn’t love me? 

Shut up, I firmly told myself. Of course this was a good idea. I was just tired. You always regret things when you’re tired. 

I stretched my legs a little. That felt nice. There wasn’t a whole lot of leg space on the plane, and I had these absurdly longs legs. 

Was that why Greta called me “ma bichette”, I wondered. Because of my long legs? Sometimes during that month where I had been in a zombie like daze after Greta had left, I had actually been desperate enough to google the phrase. My doe. That was what she had been calling me all this time. I wasn’t quite sure why. Maybe it was because of my legs. 

And then there was the other phrase. “Ma jolie”. I had googled that one as well. And I had cried all over again when I had found out what that meant. 

My beautiful. That was what “ma jolie” meant. She had been calling me beautiful all that time without my knowledge. 

I leaned back in the chair. I wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep again, but at the same time, I was terrified of sleeping so soundly I missed my plane to Geneva. 

To keep myself awake, I found my phone and did what I had promised to do. I texted Hannah and Michelle to let them know I had arrived safely in Amsterdam Airport. It didn’t even take two minutes before they texted me back, asking me how I was doing. I truthfully texted back that I was alright but very nervous. 

They texted me back immediately. Hannah was sure that everything would be okay, and Michelle once again offered to come to Geneva and “whip Greta’s ass” if she was mean to me again. 

I laughed. Mainly because I could see Greta’s stone cold and sarcastic reaction to that not very threatening threat. 

Greta. Oh god, what would she say when I suddenly showed up at hotel Adriatica? (If I found he,r, I wasn't sure how long you could stay at a hotel, even if it was a "long term" stay) I had literally no idea what to expect, and for a moment I imagined her yelling at me, even though she wasn’t the yelling type. 

I would just have to speak before she could get the chance to. I would have to be the one to talk first. I had so many things to say to her. Including that taking off in the middle of the night and leaving me with nothing but a letter was not okay. I was entitled to be a little bit angry with her. 

I stuffed the phone back into my pocket and tried my best to relax. I had one hour before boarding the plane to Geneva, and hyperventilating was not on my schedule today. I felt oddly restless. Jittery. I had considered to walk around in the airport for a bit to stretch my legs, but I was terrified at not being able of finding my way back. Blundering around in Amsterdam Airport was not on my schedule either. 

No, it was better to stay here and wait patiently until I could board the plane. Patience wasn’t exactly my strong suit, but I would have to suck it up. 

My anxiety mixed with that warm, liquid feeling of excitement in my stomach. It was an odd feeling. Somewhere between teeth clattering anxiety and melting excitement. I still couldn’t fully wrap my head around the fact that I was gonna see Greta again. Regardless of which Greta I was gonna see. I wasn’t in doubt that she was gonna be surprised, but would she be angry too? That was the big question. 

And sooner rather than later, I was gonna find out. My stomach curled again. 

After a while, I found my phone again and plugged my headphones in. I needed music and I needed music that was loud enough to drown my thoughts. Because this was madness. Madness that I, Celine Welles, 18 years old, with no experience in travelling alone was sitting in Amsterdam Airport. It was madness that I, Celine Welles, the girl who had always played it safe, was on her way to Geneva to see a woman who had no idea I was coming. 

I chuckled. Yep, I was definitely crazy. The good kind of crazy. 

And I was still damn sure that this was the right decision. I didn’t expect that everything would be rainbows and butterflies just because I showed up. I had no expectations of a happy ending. I just knew that I was entitled to some sort of ending. An ending that consisted of more than just a letter. 

I turned the volume up on Peggy Lee. 

 

I spent the next hour with my headphones in my ears and anxiously crossing and uncrossing my legs. My palms were damp, and my heart was thrumming uncomfortably in my chest. It felt like some sort of mini panic attack.

I reminded myself to breathe. I couldn’t be a nervous wreck when I boarded the plane to Geneva. No. I had to pull myself together. 

“Every kiss, every hug, seems to act just like a drug, you're getting to be a habit with me.” Peggy Lee sang into my ear, and I tried to focus on her voice instead of my own anxiety. 

I only succeeded partially.

“Let me stay in your arms, I'm addicted to your charms, you're getting to be a habit with me.”

I almost wished it was acceptable to sing along. But that would quite possible earn me a few raised eyebrows from the other people in the airport. 

I had to settle for turning the volume up a bit more. 

“I used to think your love was something I could take or leave alone, but now couldn't do without my supply, I need you for my own.”  
I tapped my foot up and down in synch with the rhythm.   
“Oh, I can't break away, I must have you every day, as regularly as coffee or tea, you've got me in your clutches, and I can’t break free; you're getting to be a habit with me.”

Maybe the music was a bad idea after all. My head was really spinning, and I felt slightly dizzy. My head was swimming.

I still had about one hour of journey left. One little hour and I would be in Geneva. Jesus, how was I supposed to get from the airport to the hotel? I hadn’t really thought about that. Hopefully, there would be busses nearby. Or maybe I could afford calling a cab. 

And exactly how was I supposed to find Greta at the hotel? I hadn’t thought of that either. I couldn’t exactly just walk up to the hotel clerk and say “hi, I’m looking for Greta Adams. Wanna tell me which room she’s in?” 

That wasn’t how that stuff worked. In fact I was fairly certain it was illegal for hotel clerk to give out that kind of information. 

I guess I’ll just have to improvise then. I just didn’t exactly know how. Right now, the only type of improvisation I could imagine, was sleeping in the lobby and wait for Greta to appear. If she still was there, of course. Otherwise, I would pretty much be screwed. 

I almost chuckled, and then I tipped my head back against the wall and closed my eyes.

 

******

 

“ Alle passagiers die naar Genève reizen, gaan alsjeblieft naar de gate”….

My eyes immediately snapped open, and I got out of the chair so fast my leg started cramping. 

“All passengers travelling to Geneva, please go to the gate...” 

Right. Yes. That was me. I quickly pulled myself together and followed the other passengers to the right gate. 

The line quickly “thinned”, and it became my turn to show my passport to the stewardess. 

“Have a nice trip, miss,” the blonde stewardess said with thick accent and flashed me a smile.

“Thank you,” I said and did my best to smile back, but I wasn’t feeling quite as confident anymore. I was starting to get really nervous. 

I quickly walked through the tunnel and then into the plane. Another window seat. But with way more leg room, I noted. I didn’t mind that one bit. That only meant I would actually fit there. This time, I stuffed my duffel bag away in the overhead bin.

I clicked my seatbelt into place and tried to be patient as yet another stewardess told about the security aboard the plane. In Dutch and English. 

But as opposed to the last time, it felt like this only took a moment. Soon the plane was moving, and I tried to brace myself (and my stomach) as we neared take off. 

I didn’t succeed. My hands curled into fists and my knuckles turned white as I felt the plane leave solid ground. 

“Are you alright, miss?” the man sitting next to me asked with an accent as thick as the stewardess. 

“Yeah,” I squeaked and unclenched my fists. 

“First time on a plane?” he asked and smiled understandingly. 

Sort of. “Yes,” I confirmed with a small smile. 

He nodded and smiled again. “Deep breaths help.” 

“I’ll remember that.”

I looked out of the window and watched as Amsterdam Airport turned into nothing more than just a miniature edition. My hour long stay in Amsterdam was over. Now I was really on my way to Geneva and hotel Adriatica. And Greta. 

The metaphorical butterflies fluttered around in my stomach. Seeing her again was gonna be.... 

How much had changed when I saw her again? Had she lost more weight? Was she sicker? The butterflies in my stomach turned into ice cold dread. Lots of things can happen in a month.

The feather-like clouds drifted pass us. There was a ding, and then the little sign indicating that I could unbuckle and switch my phone back on stopped glowing red. But I felt no need to turn my music back on. My head was full of thoughts. Go to Geneva. That had been my plan. Talk to Greta, ditto. But suddenly, that felt like the most complicated plan in the world. What if she wasn’t at the hotel? What if she didn’t want to talk to me? What if she wouldn’t listen to me? What if she refused to hear the things I had to say?

I wasn’t sure I could take another rejection. 

My breath quickened again, and I reminded myself that this was a public place. A plane. I couldn’t get a panic attack on a plane. The guy sitting next to me had already asked questions once. God forbid he should ask a second time. 

I looked out at the clouds. Flying was actually pretty alright. I didn’t mind drifting through the air like this. It was the taking off/landing part I didn’t like. That made my stomach flip. 

“Something to drink, miss?” the stewardess offered as she reached my seat. 

“Yeah, I’ll have some water,” I replied. My throat was dry. 

I ended up ordering a bag of peanuts too. I had eaten on the trip from Seattle to Amsterdam, but I was nervous, and I had a habit of snacking when I was nervous. 

Maybe I should have ordered alcohol instead, I mused to myself as I took a gulp of my water. That would have been another excellent way to calm myself. But I wasn’t quite confident enough to order alcohol. I was fairly certain that it was legal to drink at 18 in Amsterdam, but I didn’t want to get into that whole discussion with the stewardess. I would have to settle for my water. And my peanuts. 

I looked out of the window again, but I couldn’t see anything. We were flying directly through a cloud. Oh well. As long as the pilots could see. 

I fished my phone out my pocket. I might as well be a little practical and figure out how to get from the airport to hotel Adriatica. According to good old GPS, there was four different busses I could take, and none of them were very far from the airport. I would have to walk a to switch busses, but I could do that. Take a bus in a foreign country without getting lost. I could easily do that. Totally. 

I had never felt younger and more inexperienced than I did right now. 

I tried to swallow the massive lump in my throat and then I thrusted my hand into the bag of peanuts again. I would need plenty of fuel for this. 

 

One hour and thirty minutes later, my stomach did another flipflop as the plane landed in Genève Aéroport. I panicked slightly again as I waited for the stewardess to let us out. 

God, I’m here. In Geneva. I’m actually in fucking Geneva. Even though I had been on my way for almost thirteen hours. I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that I was actually here. 

It felt like hours before the stewardess finally allowed us out of the airplane, and I was somewhere between awake and asleep as I grabbed the duffel bag and slung it over my shoulder and followed the other passengers. 

My knees felt like jelly, and suddenly the idea of fainting right here and now seemed very tempting. 

But I couldn’t very well do that. Otherwise I was in for a trip to the hospital instead of hotel Adriatica. 

And I didn’t faint. Instead I followed the other passengers into the arrival hall. Since I didn’t have any luggage beside my duffel bag, I didn’t have to wait or anything. I could continue my journey. 

My first thought when I stepped outside was, god, it’s cold! The temperature difference wasn’t enormous, but it was still colder than Seattle had been. 

And what time was it even? I had been sitting in a plane for twelve hours, and I had a feeling that it should be late. It ought to be late. But there was still daylight and everything as I walked away from the airport. 

I quickly found the busstop, and apparently, I was right on time. I only waited a couple of minutes before the right bus showed up. 

I felt like a bundle of nerves as I found an empty seat and sat down. I knew that this bus could take me to hotel Adriatica, but that was about the only thing I knew. Everything was new and confusing, and everybody were speaking French. It was very hard not to feel like a lost tourist. 

I tried to remind myself that I actually had a plan, but now that I was here, my little “plan” completely crumbled, and turned into nothing more than a wild goose chase. 

For the first time, I doubted this a little bit. For the first time, I allowed myself to doubt this a little bit. 

I grabbed a new handful of peanuts and shoved them into my mouth. Calm down, calm down, I told myself. This bus ride took about thirty minutes. I had thirty minutes to try and resemblance a calm and collected human being. I could do that, right? 

My breath quickened. 

Or maybe I couldn’t. 

My foot started tapping up and down. I had to remind myself not to do that. That would only bother the other passengers. 

Then I remembered what I had promised. To text Hannah and Michelle when I arrived in Geneva. I quickly found my phone and sent them a group text via messenger. 

The reply arrived within seconds. “Are you okay?” they asked me. “Where are you right now?” 

“I’m so nervous I could throw up,” I tapped. “And I’m in a bus on my way to hotel Adriatica.” 

“You’ve got this, Welles.” Was the reply. 

I’d like to think they were right about that. But right now it didn’t feel like I had anything. I just felt like a stranger in a foreign country, on an impossible quest. 

But I still managed to text something back that was vaguely optimistic. 

It was only when the elderly man sitting on the seat across from me glared annoyed at me, I noticed that my foot had started to tap up and down again. Woops. 

I flashed him a little sheepish smile and sought solace in another handful of peanuts. 

 

My stomach was still twisting when I got off the bus, but my mind was a bit calmer as I slung the duffel bag over my shoulder and started walking toward my destination. Good old GPS told me that I was only a minute away from hotel Adriatica. All I had to do was walk southeast on Rue Lombard until I reached Rue Sautter. 

I easily found Rue Sautter and followed it like I was supposed to. A moment later I was standing in front of Hotel Adriatica. 

“Well, that was easy,” I muttered to myself as I walked up the stairs and pushed the door open. Very nice lobby with gold baroque armchairs. This was definitely not just some cheap hotel. 

As I stood there in the lobby and wondered what to do next, I was suddenly overwhelmed by a million flashbacks. God, I had been in this situation so many times before. Another hotel lobby. I was taken back to the first time I had entered hotel Ballard, aggravated and ready to tell Greta a thing or two. 

I had never gotten the chance to tell her anything. My anger had melted away the moment she had kissed me. 

I blinked and tried to push the memories of my first night with Greta out of my mind. I reminded myself that I was standing in the middle of a hotel lobby. A very empty hotel lobby. There was no guests around, and no hotel clerk either. An abandoned hotel. 

It only took me a moment to figure out why it was empty though. “Conférence “ a big white sign told me. Along with a neatly drawn arrow pointing to the right. Ah. So that was the reason why the lobby was abandoned. There was a conference going on at the hotel. Which probably meant that every single room was booked. 

Shit. I hadn’t really thought about that either. Where was I supposed to stay? This was a luxury hotel. Not exactly a place where an eighteen year old book a room. 

I was beginning to realize that I had jumped head first into this. 

One thing at the time, I reminded myself as I stumbled forward in the opposite direction of the “Conférence” sign. I had to focus on the main thing. Find Greta. 

But exactly how did I do that? This was a big place. A very big place. I didn’t have many options. Except for walking up and down the corridors until I found what I was looking for. And I didn’t have all the time in the world to do that. At some point it would be discovered that a “strange girl” was walking aimlessly up and down the hallways. I would either be discovered by one of the guests and reported to the staff. Or a member from the staff would find me. I would be kicked out. And then I would really be screwed. 

I took a deep breath and once again reminded myself to breathe. The sound of my footsteps seemed to be too loud as I walked down the hallway. I could hear the faint murmurs coming from the conference room. 

I continuously reminded myself of my purpose here, but the way my heart thrummed in my chest alerted me that I was on the brink of a panic attack. 

Go to Geneva. That had been my first priority. Get to hotel Adriatica. That had been my second priority. 

I was in Geneva. I was on hotel Adriatica. I was currently walking down the hallway. Now what? I hadn’t thought as far as this. I hadn’t pictured myself in a situation where I was walking up and down the hallway aimlessly. But now I had no choice. I had to consider the possibility that this was a mad, romantic quest. 

God, what if I don’t find her? What if I actually don’t find her? I had been so sure that when I showed up at the hotel, she would by some miracle be right there. But she wasn’t. And I was walking up the hallway like a lunatic. 

Damn her. Damn her for running off to Geneva. Damn her for making me follow her. 

Make you? That annoying, little inner voice scoffed dryly. She didn’t MAKE you do anything. You chose to follow her. She never asked you to. 

My little inner voice was correct. Greta hadn’t asked me to follow her. Quite the reverse. She had asked me to “forget her”. 

I stopped in my tracks for a moment. Suppose I do find her, but she doesn’t want to see me. Suppose she doesn’t let me talk. 

Was I really just some silly little girl who couldn’t take no for an answer? 

I can’t decide whether you’re really stupid or really brave. Wasn’t that what Greta once had said to me? 

I didn’t feel very brave right now. I felt stupid. 

I closed my eyes for a moment and shook my head. Then I took a shaky breath. I really had to try and get my breathing under control. Otherwise there was a really excellent chance I was gonna pass out right here in this hallway. I was sleep deprived. I was jetlagged. I was hungry. I could do with a shower after having travelled for almost thirteen hours, and I was seemingly out on some wild goose chase. 

My body wanted nothing more than to just give up and find somewhere to sleep, but my mind refused to rest. I couldn’t leave without any answers. I had soldier on, as they say. 

I grabbed more firmer hold of my duffel bag. Continued my walk up the hallway. What was I supposed to do? Knock on every door until I found the right room? 

Greta’s letter was suddenly weighing heavily in my pocket. 

“This would only end in heartbreak, and I don’t want that for you.”

“Fall in love with someone who is worthy of your love.”

“Yesterday you said you were willing to do “anything”, so here’s what I’m asking you to do: forget about me.”

“I know this will make you upset and believe me when I say that I never wanted you to be upset.”

“But staying here, near you would have been a selfish decision on my part.”

I had read the letter so many times I knew every single word written in it. And every word had cut me deeper every time I read it. She had written a lot about her decisions in that letter. How staying with me would be selfish of her. 

Did she ever consider the fact that I won’t let HER go? Have she ever considered that she IS worthy of my love? 

Did she perhaps have some magic crystal ball that predicted the future? Did she know for sure that this would end in heartbreak? The future was damn well not written into stone. Greta couldn’t be sure that this would end in heartbreak. 

And taking off in the middle of the night doesn’t solve anything, I thought to myself. Maybe it was her way of leaving things between us, but it wasn’t the way of leaving things between us. 

In what reality could leaving possibly be the best decision, I thought to myself for the millionth time. How could she possible think that was the best way to solve this? Fuck that. Fuck that self-sacrificial bullshit.

My steps were almost echoing in the quiet hallway. Seriously, what would she have done if I had woken up sooner and caught her on the brink of leaving? What could she possibly have said if I-.... 

“Argh!” my inner monologue was disrupted completely when one of the many doors opened and I ran straight into the hotel guest coming out of their room. Idiot, I scolded myself as I stumbled and almost tripped over my own feet. Nice one, Welles. Maybe I should try and look up and actually pay attention instead of looking at the floor and getting lost in my own head. I opened my mouth to apologize, but the poor person I so rudely had bumped into beat me to it:

“Veuillez m'excuser, je ne voulais pas vous bousculer!”

I froze on the spot. That voice. That smoky, husky seductive voice I’d heard about a million times. That voice every part of me had screamed for in the past month. Thirty days. It had been thirty days since   
I last heard her voice. 

A second ago, I scolded myself for not looking up. Now I barely dared to do it. A small, silly part of me was terrified to look up only to find out that she was some sort of fatamorgana my tired brain had come up with. 

The breath hitched in my throat as I dared myself to look up. At her.

“Céline?” she said, and her rich voice was laced with confusion.

“Yeah,” I said lamely, and I had no idea how my voice didn’t tremble. “Here I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not speak French, so yes, there might be some errors here and there ;)


	48. Chapter Forty Eight

Greta just looked at me. Silently. She looked like she didn’t know what to say. For the first time since I had met her, she appeared to be speechless. 

My first feeling after laying eyes upon her, was instant relief, because god how I had missed her. She had been gone for a month and I had thought about her all the time since. Driven myself mad, thinking about her. Kept myself awake at night, thinking about her. I had relived every interaction, every kiss, every caress between us during that month. I had imagined her smiling at me more times than I could remember.

My imagination had not done me any justice. She looked far more beautiful than I could recall as she stood there in her fur collar coat, her gloves and her pillbox hat. She was holding her suitcase in one hand, and- I felt a flicker of fear low in my gut- something about her had changed. The little folder about oxygen therapy she had been reading, had clearly not just been her looking into different options. 

Beside the suitcase in her hand, she was holding on to something else as well. Something stuffed into a trolley on wheels. Something that consisted of a slim, white tube that was attached to whatever was inside that trolley. The tube was mostly camouflaged under her hair, but I could see it rest lightly on her cheeks, and then there was of course the two prongs going into her nostrils. 

I swallowed something and tried to stay calm, but seeing this, knowing that Greta was on oxygen made my throat constrict painfully. 

But Greta didn’t seem concerned with her newest “accessory”. She looked at me with her ice blue eyes and asked: “what on earth are you doing here?” 

“Isn’t that fairly obvious?” I said and answered her question with another. Reaching within my pocket I found her letter and waved it in her face. “This is bullshit.” 

One of her perfectly sculped eyebrows rose. 

“Completely and utterly,” I added for good measurement. 

“Have you lost your mind?” Greta asked calmly. 

“Well, I’ve just spent almost thirteen hours on a plane. I’ve spent one hour in Amsterdam Airport. I’m dizzy and jetlagged, I have slept far less than I should for an entire month, so yes, it’s very possible   
that my sanity might be slipping a little!” I said. I wasn’t quite as calm as she. 

The look she gave me was quite disbelieving. 

I looked at her coat and hat. The suitcase she was carrying. The key in her hand. “Going somewhere?” I inquired. 

“As a matter fact, I was getting ready to check out,” Greta said. “I can’t very well stay at this hotel as long as I’m in Switzerland.” 

“Where were you going?” I asked and grabbed a little firmer hold of my duffel-bag. 

“Verbier. Not that it’s of any relevance.” 

I glared at her. Not of any relevance?

“Why are you here, Céline?” Greta asked plainly. 

“I want to talk to you.” 

She shifted slightly. “I doubt there’s anything left to talk about.” 

“Oh, I’m sure you don’t have anymore to talk about,” I scoffed. “But I have. In fact I have a lot to say.” 

“Do you now?” she said tiredly as she turned around and opened the door to her hotel room once more. “Then by all means come in. I doubt anyone would benefit from hearing us having this conversation in the hallway.” 

 

I followed her into the hotel room, and for a split second, it was hard to focus on anything beside the incredible room. King size bed. Flat screen. Mini bar. Balcony. There was probably some ridiculous big bathroom hiding away somewhere. 

Greta sat her suitcase down in the corner but brought the oxygen tank with her as she elegantly sat down on one of the plushy armchairs. Taking off her gloves she said: “alright, miss Welles. I’m all ears.   
Start yelling.” 

I blinked slightly. “You think that’s why I’m here? To yell at you?” 

Greta elegantly folded crossed one ankle behind the other. “I imagine you’re quite angry with me. I know I would be.” 

“Fine. I am angry with you,” I said and dumped my duffel bag on the floor. “But I didn’t come all this way to yell at you.” 

“Then why did you come all this way?” Greta asked and adjusted the tubes behind her ears slightly. 

“As I said, I want to talk to you,” I said. My voice was calmer now. Less shrill. Good. 

“Talk then,” Greta said.

I shifted on my feet. “How could you think that running away from me could ever solve anything?” 

“I didn’t run away from you,” Greta said. “I ended things. Like I should have done months ago.” 

“And you think a letter is an acceptable way to end things?” 

“No.” she said. “But I had no other choice. You gave me no other choice.” 

“There is always a choice, Greta!” I exclaimed and silently reminded myself to stay calm. “You could have talked to me!” 

“And told you what? I’m sick, Céline.”

“I know,” I said. “But you’re also afraid because I want to be with you regardless of that.” 

She chuckled darkly. “Because I have so much to offer you.” 

“You’ve given me more than anybody else ever have,” I said truthfully. 

“Céline...” she shook her head.

I raised the hand that was still holding on to the letter. “Asking me to forget about you... I think we both know that’s not gonna happen, Greta. Asking me to forget you is the same thing as asking me to   
climb Mount Everest.”

“I’m not worth it,” Greta said plainly and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Look at me.” 

“I am looking at you,” I said. “And the thing is, you are worth it. You are worth every last bit of it.” 

“And the heartache if this ends in a funeral?” she said brusquely and looked somewhere above my head. “Or if I perhaps end up in a wheelchair? Am I also worth that? You really believe I’m worth sacrificing every-“

“Sacrifice,” I interrupted, and the floorboards creaked slightly as I walked over to her. She was still sitting in that armchair, so I ended up crouching down in front of her. Hesitantly, I put my hand on her   
knee before continuing. “You say that word a lot,” I said gently. She didn’t brush my hand away. “But loving you is not a goddamn sacrifice, Greta. It’s not even a choice. And even if it had been, I wouldn’t   
have changed a thing.” 

She shook her head again, but she still didn’t brush my hand away from her knee. 

“If you want to be rid of me, you’ll have to physically kick me out of your room,” I said gently as I brushed my thumb over her knee. “Either that or you’ll have to order me to leave.” 

“And go where?” Greta asked, and her ice blue gaze finally landed on me. “I doubt you’ve made any living arrangements for yourself here in Geneva.” 

“You’re right, I haven’t.” I confirmed and almost chuckled. “I went head first into this.” 

Greta shook her head once. “You stupid girl. You stupid, impossible, impulsive girl.” 

“If realizing that I can’t let the best thing ever happening to me, go, then yes, I am stupid.” I wholeheartedly agreed, and this time I did chuckle a bit. “But I don’t care about that.” 

“What do I have to do to make you stop hassling me?” Greta asked, but her voice wasn’t particularly harsh. 

“Ask me to leave,” I challenged. “Go on. Ask me to leave.” 

She didn’t ask me to leave. Instead her hand landed on top of mine as she said: “Everything is uncertain.”

I nodded slightly. My other hand released its grip on the letter I had received at hotel Ballard. 

“I know it is,” I said gently and nodded towards the letter now lying on the floor. “But you’re wrong about one thing. What matters the most isn’t how much time you have left. It’s what we make of the   
time you have left. I don’t care whether you have five minutes left. Or ten minutes. Or ten years. Or twenty years. I’m staying here for all of it. I know your future is uncertain. I know that everything is up for grabs, and I know that this isn’t gonna be a piece of cake.”

“Eloquent as always.”

“You shouldn’t have left,” I said and ignored her little comment. “You shouldn’t have made the decision for me. I’ve had a lifetime of experience with people who made the decisions for me. You don’t get to decide this on your own. I won’t let you.”

“I think you’ve proved as much by coming here,” Greta said.

I sucked in a breath, and my voice trembled as I continued: “it’s you. It’s always going to be you. There’s.... There’s no way around it, Greta. You are inevitable. We are. All those times we’ve run into each other. Those weren’t accidents. It’s like... It’s like every way leads to you.”

“Céline...” she shook her head. “You are sweet and you’re stubborn, and I’d like to agree with you, but...” 

“But what? Seriously, what’s holding you back? You don’t share my feelings? I don’t buy that,” I said plainly and squeezed her glove clad fingers before continuing: “That night at hotel Ballard before you   
left, you were crying.”

She didn’t deny that. She simply rose from the armchair and walked over to the window, turning her back on me. Despite all the things I had just said, she was still trying to distance herself from me. 

But I wouldn’t let her. Not this time. Not again. I followed her, and my fingers trembled slightly as I put my hand on her shoulder. She was still wearing her coat and hat. I didn’t like that. She looked like she was about to leave again. 

“Please don’t shut me out,” I whispered. My voice was trembling uncontrollably now. Everything was overwhelming. The decision about coming here. The journey. Finding Greta. The fear that all of it would be in vain. Fatigue was setting in, and the need to just lie down and sleep was overwhelming. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Greta said, still turned away from me. 

“Say I have a chance. Say we have a chance.” I whispered and ignored the obvious plead in my voice. 

She sighed. 

“You think you ruin my life?” I murmured quietly. “You don’t. The only thing ruining it, is when you’re not in it. The time I’ve spent with you has been the best in my life. Without comparison. You changed   
everything.”

She didn’t respond to that, and she remained turned away from me. 

And I was running out of things to say to her. I was running out of ways to try and wreck that “Alexandra-façade” she so neatly had put up. 

“I love you,” I whispered. “But if you ask me to leave...” I couldn’t even finish that sentence. I could suddenly see myself go back to Seattle without any answers. 

There was a moment of silence between us, and then, very quietly...

“I’m not asking you to leave,” Greta said.

My hand stilled on her shoulder. Please turn around, my mind begged her. Please turn around and look at me. 

“You coming here is the last thing I expected,” she said. 

“I know. I’m actually pretty surprised myself,” I replied and considered whether to move my hand away from her shoulder or not. 

A soft “mm” was the only reaction I got from her. 

I moved my hand from her shoulder and let it slide down to cup her elbow lightly instead. What was she thinking about? What was going on inside her head? Am I really just a fool for coming here? Are all   
of this in vain? What if I would never get my answers? 

She didn’t want me to leave. She had said as much. And I couldn’t leave. I just couldn’t. I would rather tear myself apart than leave now. 

“What am I going to do with you?” she asked so softly it almost slipped past me. 

“I don’t know,” I said just as quietly. “Leaving doesn’t work.” 

“Clearly not,” Greta agreed with me. And then she turned around and looked at me. 

I smiled at her. Looking into her ice blue eyes I wondered how I had managed to stay sane that month I’d been without her. 

She raised her hand and cupped my cheek lightly. I immediately put my hand over hers. Even that little touch was enough to make my skin heat up ever so slightly. It was enough to send murmurs of   
warmth down my spine. God, how I had missed her. So much.

“You are something else, Céline Welles,” she said quietly. 

“And you look like you’re about to leave,” I pointed out and looked at her coat and hat. 

“I was on my way down to check out,” Greta said. “But I suppose that can wait a day or two.” 

“Where were you going?” I asked and silently hoped that she wouldn’t move her hand. Ever. 

“I’ve rented a cabin in Verbier.” 

“Verbier?” 

“It’s up in the alps,” Greta explained. “Hotels are alright for a start, but I prefer a secluded place to stay. But the place wasn’t quite ready when I arrived. Hence why I’m still staying at this hotel.” 

I nodded a little. 

She slowly moved her hand from my cheek, and every nerve in me protested, but my irrational panic calmed when I looked up and met her ice blue gaze. 

“I’ll go down to the reception and inform them that I’m staying an extra day,” she said. “And let them know that there will be one more guest in the room.” 

“Okay.” I said and tried my best to sound calm but seeing her walk towards the door made my heart speed up. 

“Why don’t you get some rest?” she suggested. “You must be tired after the long journey you’ve had.” With that, she left the hotel room.

And I was tired. But I also wanted to stay awake until she came back. I wanted to watch that door until Greta walked through it. 

The enormous bed creaked slightly as I sat down. The room was spinning slightly, and I hid my face in my hands. I didn’t know whether it was solely because of the fatigue, or seeing Greta again also   
played a part, but I was suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to cry. Bawl my eyes out. Sob hysterically. It was too much. Everything was too much. 

I ended up kicking my shoes off and curling up on the too-big-for-one-person bed. Even though the room wasn’t chilly in anyway, I found myself trembling. Maybe I was going into shock or something   
like that. I had just lived through the longest month of my life. I had woken up alone on hotel Ballard to a letter. Greta had left. I had found a way to break the barrier between me and my mother. I had   
finally talked to her. I had left Seattle. Found Greta. Told her everything I wanted to say, and more. 

And now I was completely beat. Literally. There was not a smidge of energy left in me. I had spent it all. Maybe it had been gone for a while and I just hadn’t noticed. Maybe I had been running on pure adrenaline and nothing else. 

I pressed my palm against my forehead in an attempt to make the room stop spinning. I couldn’t watch the door when the room was spinning. I couldn’t watch anything when the room was spinning. And 

I wanted to watch the door. I wanted to be awake when Greta walked back through the door.... 

My eyes slid closed and I let it happen. I couldn’t keep my eyes open even if someone demanded that I did. I was tired, but I wasn’t just tired. I was exhausted. I had never known what true exhaustion was until right now. 

When I opened my eyes again, Greta was sitting in the armchair again. She wasn’t wearing her coat, gloves and hat anymore. Instead the discarded coat revealed a tailored skirt and blouse outfit, and relief seeped through me. She didn’t look like someone who was about to leave again. And she was looking at me. Her ice blue gaze was uncertain and full of doubt. 

I didn’t want her to doubt anything. I didn’t want her to doubt this. My head felt completely heavy. Too heavy to lift, so instead I lifted my hand and stretched it out towards her. 

She raised an eyebrow at that. 

“Please?” I said meekly. 

She rose from the chair, and I was half expecting the familiar clack, clack of her heels, but it never came. She must have taken her shoes off. 

She outstretched her own hand. Our fingers interlaced, and I didn’t hesitate as I gave her hand a gentle tug. I wanted her next to me. 

Her eyes were still concerned, and she withdrew her hand from mine again. But only to remove the nasal cannula from her nostrils. Then she lied down next to me on the bed. 

Every instinct in me told me to slide closer to her, but for once I repressed those instincts and settled for interlacing our fingers again. 

“Your hands are warmer now,” I murmured. This was the first time her fingertips weren’t cold against mine. 

“The extra oxygen helps,” she answered just as quietly. 

“Oh.” That made sense. 

The room fell silent and I squeezed Greta’s fingers a bit. I wanted to ask her things. Ask her how she was doing. If she was... Well, I knew that she wasn’t okay, but...

“Does it help?” I asked softly. 

“Does what help?” she replied. 

“The oxygen.” I clarified. 

“It does,” she nodded. “It leaves me less.... breathless.” 

“That’s good.” 

“But of course it’s not enough to...” she ran out of words and went with a different approach: “the future is so uncertain.” 

“Yeah.” I said. “So why worry about it? Why not just... Take one day at the time?” 

“That rarely works for me.” 

“You could try?” I suggested. “We could try. Together.” 

She freed one hand and pushed a stray curl behind her ear. “I am no grand price, Céline. I have many bad days. Days where I just want to be left alone. Days where I will snap and do everything to drive you away. Is that really what you want?” she shook her head slightly. “You are eighteen. This is hardly-“ 

“You are what I want,” I gently interrupted. “And you have been for a good while now.” 

“You have some odd wishes,” she stated plainly. 

I chuckled wetly. “Possibly. But I can’t change anything. And even if I could, I wouldn’t. Not even a single thing.” 

And with that I finally slid closer to her. I swallowed thickly as I rested my forehead against hers. There was that odd urge to burst into tears. Which would be ridiculous, because it felt like we were   
nearing some sort of resolution. 

“Ma jolie,” Greta said quietly. 

Tears were prickling in my eyes. 

“I really thought that leaving was the right thing to do,” she murmured. 

“I know,” I mumbled and my voice broke.

“I made the wrong decision,” she said equally quiet. 

“Yeah.” I said plainly. One hell of a bad decision. That decision had almost crushed me. 

“I don’t have much experience with earning someone’s forgiveness,” Greta said. “But I’ll try my best.”

I let out a bubbly laugh at that. 

“I am sorry, Céline,” she said earnestly. “I really, truly am.” 

My head was spinning. First an apology from my mother, and now one from Greta. 

“You don’t have to-“ 

“Yes, I do,” she interrupted as her hand slipped down to rest on my hip. 

The sincerity in her voice only made more tears prickle in my eyes. I could feel them as they dripped down my cheeks, and I felt like such a damned fool for crying like this, but there was little I could do about it. 

Soft and significantly warmer fingers came up to rest against my cheek again, and I would have paid all the riches in the world to remain like this forever, but the serenity only lasted so long, and was rudely interrupted by a knock on the door. 

“It’s just room service,” Greta said when I flinched. “I figured you would be hungry after your long trip.” 

“I am,” I said croakily. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t...” Greta shook her head. “Don’t thank me, Céline.” She rose from the bed and walked over to the door to receive the food. 

The little table was rolled in, and I barely noticed what was on the plates. I just more or less shoved it into my mouth like a hungry wolf. 

Greta said nothing as I ate. She settled back into the armchair and readjusted the nasal cannula in her nostrils. 

I ate until my stomach felt completely tight and kind of uncomfortable. But the discomfort was worth it. 

“You should get some more sleep,” Greta said. “You are still tired.” 

I couldn’t exactly run from that, so I nodded and curled up on the bed once more. I wanted to make sure she was still here when I returned to the world of consciousness, but I didn’t get the chance before sleep claimed me once more.......


	49. Chapter Forty Nine

Thanks to the jetlag, I was completely beside myself when I woke up again. The hotel room was dark, and the armchair next to the bed empty. 

My first initial reaction was panic, because not this again. This reminded me of the last time she had left me at hotel Ballard. For ten panicked seconds, I was convinced she had done it again. 

I sat up in the bed and noted that I wasn’t wearing my booths and my leather jacket anymore. Greta must have taken both item of me when I slept. 

“Greta?” I called and ignored the twinge of panic low in my gut and the way my shoulders tightened. What if there won’t be an answer?

“Yes?” came the soft answer from the bathroom. 

My shoulders immediately uncurled, and my stomach turned to soup. She’s here. She’s still here. 

I shoved the covers aside and paused slightly with one foot on the floor. I hadn’t been under the covers when I went to sleep. Someone had “tucked me in” so to speak. 

As I stood from the bed, I noted that the door to the bathroom was open. Not wide open, but not just pushed ajar either. It wasn’t rude to come in when the door was open, right? 

I decided that it was a perfectly reasonable thing to do and walked over to the bathroom and pushed the door completely open. 

Greta was laying in the absurdly big tub. Her hair was wet, and for a moment I was distracted by what I could see of her naked body through the water and bubbles. 

She looked up to acknowledge me, and a tiny smile grazed her lips. “You’re awake.” 

I nodded once. “Can I come in?” I asked dumbly. 

Greta let out a fruity chuckle. “I think you already are.” 

She was right. I was. And I couldn’t help but note that this was an unusual situation. She was naked, while I was fully dressed. That wasn’t how things normally played out. The tables had turned. 

“Did you sleep alright?” she asked and one of her fingers came up to scratch her cheek lightly. The tubes were gone, I noted. 

“Mmm,” I said and nodded again. 

“Good. That’s good.” 

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the quiet “splash, splash” of water as Greta adjusted slightly in the tub. Her ice blue gaze lingered on me, and then she said almost hesitantly: “there is...   
There is room for one more if you want to join me. The water is still nice and warm.” 

“That sounds great,” I said immediately and silently wondered why she sounded so unsure. We weren’t exactly strangers to taking baths together. We had showered together during my stay in her   
houseboat. 

Maybe that was the difference. We had showered together. Never bathed in a tub. 

She looked in no particular direction as I stripped out of my clothes and dumped the items on the floor. I ran a finger through my hair. It was a little flat after having been trapped in a beanie for so long. 

And I had a feeling I was smelling of airport. If that was a thing. Either way, I could do with a bath. 

I carefully lowered myself into the tub and wiggled slightly so we were facing each other. Truthfully, I wanted nothing more than to lean back against her, but something was holding me back. 

“What time is it?” I asked, just to say something as I leaned back in the water. It really was nice and warm. Exactly like she had said. 

“Four fifteen,” Greta replied.

I frowned. “Why are you taking a bath in the middle of the night?” 

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said quietly. 

I focused my gaze on her beautiful face. Now that I was a bit more awake, I could see the dark circles underneath her eyes. The hollowness of her cheeks, and I had a feeling that the “I couldn’t sleep”   
comment didn’t just mean tonight. 

“I have to be out of the hotel room by 9 tomorrow,” Greta said and changed the subject. 

“Right. You were going to...” I didn’t finish the sentence. The name had escaped me. 

“Verbier,” Greta said. “Up in the alps.” 

“Right. You said that.” 

“The cabin is a bit secluded,” she continued with that same guarded look in her eyes. “There won’t be much company up there, at least not until the tourists arrive, but it’s beautiful up there in the   
mountains. I rather think you’d like it. If you want to come with me, that is. Will you?” 

My eyebrows raised in surprise. “Are you asking me?” I had not expected that. I had thought it was fairly obvious that I would follow her where ever she would go. 

“Yes,” Greta nodded. “Yes, I’m asking you.” 

I chuckled, and the sound was laced with surprise. “Why?”

“Because I want you to have the possibility to say no,” she said and brushed a wet lock of hair behind her ear. “And because I can’t for the life of me fathom why you are not angry with me.” 

“I tried,” I told her and remembered those few days where I tried to convince myself to be angry with her. “But I couldn’t. It didn’t work out.” 

She shook her head in pure disbelief. “Why do you not hate me?” 

“Can’t,” I said and was sure to keep my voice light. “Not even an option.” 

“It should be the only option,” she said plainly. 

It was my turn to shake my head. This was not the turn I wanted our conversation to take. I slid closer to her. “Tell me something,” I said as I considered whether to touch her or not. 

“What would you like me to tell you?” Greta asked. 

“Anything. Everything.” 

One of her perfect eyebrow rose. “That’s quite a lot to ask.” 

“About yourself then,” I clarified. “Your upbringing. Your teen years. Anything.” 

She let out a small chuckle. “I lived with my grandfather. You know that.” 

“What about your parents?” I asked. I had thought about that since my stay in the houseboat. The only thing I knew were that they “weren’t parent material”. That’s what Greta had said. 

Greta sighed. “That is not a very good story.” 

“Tell me anyway?” I gently coaxed. I had wanted this for so long. To know everything about her. 

Greta looked at a point above my head, and for a moment I thought she had been reduced to silence, but then she began talking: “my mother’s name is Lea. Lea Adams. I do not know my father’s name.”

“Okay?” I said, still gently coaxing her to continue. 

“Lea was quite young when she had me,” Greta said as she adjusted herself a little better in the water. “I suppose I am what you can call an accident.” 

I raised my eyebrow. In my opinion, there was nothing accidental about Greta. 

“And she were troubled too,” Greta continued and one of her fingers emerged from the water to play with a lock of her hair. “She liked drinking. My grandfather has told me that she tried to stay sober   
when she was expecting me, she was living with my grandfather at the time, you see. I suppose that made it a little easier to stay sober.” She adjusted herself in the water again. “But after I was born, she   
moved out and met another man. A man that wasn’t particularly interested in a white picket fence life. He liked drinking, and it didn’t take long before Lea was back to square one, as they say.” 

I reached out and took Greta’s hand, interlaced our fingers like I had done when we were lying on the bed. 

“One day my grandfather stopped by Lea’s apartment. He had his own key and could let himself in whenever he pleased. That had been one of his demands for letting her move out. Lea and her boyfriend   
were out when he arrived. The only one home was me.” 

“How old were you?” I asked. 

“Five months,” Greta said unceremoniously. Like she was reading up from a partly interesting book and not telling me her life story. “I think he’d simply had enough at that point. He had been very   
concerned about my wellbeing, and I think finding me alone in that apartment was the last straw for him.”

“So what did he-“

“He stole me,” Greta interrupted and chuckled lightly. “Plain and simple. I’ll never not be grateful for his direct approach.” 

“What about your mom?” I asked a bit hesitantly. This wasn’t exactly what I had expected when I asked her to tell me about herself. 

“Lea went to the local police station and reported me missing. A month later.” 

“She reported you missing a month later?!” I exclaimed, and anger threatened to bluescreen my entire system. 

“She was drunk for the most of it, Céline,” Greta said gently and squeezed my fingers lightly. “Try not to let it get to you. I don’t even remember it. I only know what my grandfather has told me.” 

Easier said than done. I returned the squeeze and tried to collect myself. 

“It didn’t take the police a long time to find me,” Greta continued. “Grandpapa explained the situation, but he plain refused to hand me over. He told me he said that they would have to arrest him first.” 

I smiled a little. “I’m guessing they didn’t arrest him?” 

“No, they did not,” Greta replied. “Lea was quickly deemed an unfit mother. My grandfather got sole custody of me. He got me cleaned up, bought me new clothes, changed my name.”

“You had a different name?” I asked surprised. “What was it?” 

Greta pursed her lips slightly as she thought about it. “Hmm.... I think Lea named me...... Jilly.... Yes, Jilly.” She laughed heartedly. “Isn’t that awful?” 

“It’s different,” I muttered. I couldn’t really see Greta as “Jilly”.

“Lea wasn’t one for giving up, though,” Greta continued. “She re-appeared from time to time. Always threatening to take me back. That’s partially why we left Switzerland when I was ten. To be completely   
free of her.” 

“Have you ever met her?” I asked quietly. “After you grew up, I mean?” 

“She found me once when I was nineteen and had moved out of my grandfather’s place. I didn’t know who she was until she called me “Jilly”.” 

I squeezed Greta’s fingers again. 

“I asked her to leave,” Greta said completely emotionless. “And I haven’t seen her since. She was exactly like I had imagined her. Drunk and slurring and full of accusations.” 

“Oh, Greta,” I said before I could stop myself. 

“Oh, no, no, no. Don’t pity me, ma jolie,” Greta said with a little chuckle. “I’ve made my peace with it a long time ago. And I have never regretted sending her away.” 

“She clearly wasn’t fit to be a mother,” I said quietly. 

“That is something we can quickly agree on,” Greta nodded. 

“I’m glad things changed for you,” I said and flashed her a little smile. 

Greta laughed. “I didn’t need Lea in my life to mess things up for me, Céline. I did that just fine on my own.” 

“What do you mean?”

She shook her head. “I shouldn’t bore you with it. That’s not a very good story either.” 

“But I’m curious,” I pleaded. “And I want to know more about you.” 

She pursed her lips slightly. 

“Please?” I said. Maybe I’m overdoing it just a little. 

She shook her head again, but never the less started her tale: “I was a first year student at Princeton when I met Frederick. We hit it off as they say and dated all through college. I got engaged to him when   
I was twenty one and still in college. It was early, but I didn’t care. I was in love, and so sure I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him.” 

“You were engaged?” I echoed dumbly. Obviously, I heard her the first time, but I hadn’t exactly counted on this. 

Greta nodded. “Oh, yes. For six months. He was also a psychology student like me. We had so many things in common. Getting engaged seemed like a perfectly reasonable thing to do.” 

“What happened?” I asked. Obviously, something had happened. Something always happens. 

“I fell in love again,” Greta said plainly. “Exactly like I fell in love with Frederick. One night, I was introduced to Charlotte, or, Lottie as she preferred. It felt like being struck by lightning. Nothing seemed   
important anymore. Even the engagement felt like a laughing manner.” 

I silently waited for her to go on. Like being struck by lightning. That was exactly how I had felt when I had first met Greta.

“Lottie was.... Quite a bit older than Frederick and I, and think it was her maturity that fascinated me at first. I tried to keep quiet about it,” Greta continued. “I tried to go on as nothing had happened, but   
you can’t exactly fight the impossible, can you? One night Charlotte and I had been out, and instead of driving me back to the apartment Frederick and I shared, she offered to let me spend the night at her place.” she shook her head and released my hand. Then she brushed her fingers through her wet hair again.   
“I didn’t refuse,” she continued. “I didn’t want to refuse.” 

I could thoroughly sympathize with that. 

“After that, I couldn’t pretend anymore. I was utterly blinded by what I felt for Charlotte. I called the engagement off. I didn’t even give Frederick a proper explanation for my sudden change of heart.” 

I was stunned. What Greta was telling me, was so similar to my own story. Apart from the fact that Allen and I hadn’t been engaged. Greta had...... Greta had once been me.

“What happened?” I asked quietly. 

“Charlotte was married,” Greta said dully. “Which she had conveniently enough forgotten to tell me.” 

“Oh my god.” 

“My initial reaction,” Greta nodded. “She had no intentions about leaving her husband. And she was horrified when she found out I had called off my engagement because of her.” 

“She was horrified?” I echoed and grimaced. 

Greta made an odd little gesture. “I realized that Charlotte had been using me. And it didn’t take Frederick long to find why I had ended the engagement. He was furious. He kicked me out of our apartment, and all our mutual friends promptly turned their back on me. Their sympathy was lying with Frederick. It didn’t occur to them that perhaps I had been played by Charlotte. I was... Very bitter afterwards. For a long time. And then I decided that I would never allow anyone to toy with me like Charlotte had. I didn’t want to be a pawn in a game. I wanted to be in charge of the game. I wanted everything to happen the way I wanted it to happen. I wanted to be the one who made the rules.” She sighed a little. “And I was in dire need of money and a place to live. Hence why I chose an unusual profession.” 

I nodded a little. I was beginning to realize how Alexandra, Greta’s “second personality” had come to be. And I had been right all along. Alexandra had been a defensive mechanism. 

“I think I’ve told you everything there is to know now,” Greta said. “As I once told you, I don’t make for a very good story. We should probably get some more sleep. And this water is getting cold too, so...” 

But before she could as much as adjust in the bath, I slid closer to her. Not close enough to be pressed flush against her, but close enough to reach out and graze her cheek with my fingertips. 

“Thank you for telling me.” 

“You wanted to know everything,” she reminded me, and a little smile grazed her lips. 

“That I did.” I agreed. 

She pried my fingers away from her cheek, and that gesture could have hurt me if it hadn’t been for the way she intertwined our fingers again. 

“Do you know how I got Seattle Airport?” I murmured and squeezed her fingers again. “I drove. On my own.” 

She released my hand and the water splashed again and spilled over the edges of the tub as her arms encircled me and pulled me closer. 

“I am proud of you,” she said quietly.

And that filled me with warmth, really it did, but I couldn’t really focus on it when she was this close to me. 

“I was nervous,” I admitted almost a bit shameful. 

“Of course you were,” Greta said as quiet as before. “But you did it never the less, didn’t you?” 

“Mm-hmm,” I nodded. 

Her lips landed softly on my forehead and I wanted nothing more than to just stretch my neck and connect my lips with hers. 

But before I got the chance to do that, she released her grip on me and more water splashed onto the floor as she stood from the bath. “The water is getting cold.” 

“Yeah.” She was right. The water was getting cold. I followed her example and stood from the water. 

Greta didn’t bother drying off. She simply tied a robe around herself. Then she handed me another robe. Hôtel Adriatica, was printed in golden letters on the robe. 

“We should get some more sleep,” she said. 

I nodded a little. 

Greta left the bathroom as it was. She didn’t even bother emptying the tub. She simply flicked the light switch once and left the room bathed in darkness. 

I followed her back into the bedroom. Her little trolley with the concealed oxygen tank was standing near the bed, I noted. But Greta did nothing to acknowledge it as she shoved the covers aside and climbed into bed. 

I followed suit and did the same. The mattress still had an imprint where I had been lying earlier, and I easily found the same spot. 

But Greta wasn’t satisfied with that. She opened her arms. “Come closer to me, mon ange.” 

I immediately slid closer to her. I wanted nothing more than to be close to her. When I was lying comfortably in her arms, I looked up at her. Did she just call me “my angel”? 

I wanted to ask her that. Hell, I wanted to keep talking to her all night. I wanted her smoky voice to fill my ears. But there was just one problem. I could barely keep my eyes open. The jetlag was still   
getting the best of me. 

“Get some sleep,” Greta gently ordered. “Tomorrow is gonna be quite the long day.” 

I nodded sleepily. “What’s Verbier like?” 

“It’s beautiful up there,” Greta replied, and her fingers caressed my dripping wet hair. “I think you’ll like it up there.” 

I felt tempted to tell her that I would enjoy any place on earth if only she was there, but the words sounded stupid even my head, so I said something else instead:

“I love you,” I mumbled sleepily. I was well aware that it was the third time I had told her that since I stepped inside this hotel room, but I didn’t care. I let out a yawn that was slightly muffled because of   
the way my nose and mouth was pressed into the fabric of her bathrobe.

I was practically already asleep when I suddenly registered that she just had said something. 

“Huh?” I asked and struggled to life my head to look up at her. “What was that?”

“Le seul vrai langage au monde est un baiser,” she repeated quietly. 

“And what does that mean?” I asked sleepily. 

She bowed her head slightly, and this time her lips landed on my hair. “Goodnight, Céline,” was the only explanation she offered me. 

And for some reason, I found myself more than capable of settling with that right now. It was too damn late for explanations anyway. I wouldn’t have been able to actually listen to an explanation right   
now. 

No, this.... This was everything I could I ever wish for right now. Myself in Greta’s arms. This was my paradise. And my paradise wasn’t windswept anymore. It felt like this was the calm after a particular bad storm. 

“You are not sleeping,” she pointed out. 

“Neither are you,” I shot back.

“I am not the one who has travelled for thirteen hours, miss- Céline.” 

“Touché,” I chuckled sleepily and wiggled my slightly cold feet in between her calves. 

She stiffened slightly at that. “Careful, ma jolie.” 

“No,” I muttered and shook my head. No, this was how I wanted to go to sleep tonight. 

Completely entangled with her.


	50. Chapter Fifty

It felt as though I had only just fallen asleep when a soft hand on my shoulder rouse me from my sleep. 

I opened my eyes and then blinked rapidly to make the image of Greta standing over me less blurred. 

“I’m afraid you have to wake up now,” she said. “We have to check out.” 

“I’m awake,” I assured and sat up in bed, rubbing my face. 

“Excellent. I took the liberty of ordering us some breakfast,” Greta said. 

“Sounds good.” I forced my unwilling body out of bed and dragged my duffel bag with me into the bathroom. Taking a shower seemed silly after last night’s soak in the tub, but I never the less decided to take one anyway. And afterwards, I was glad I did. It helped the “wake up” process along nicely. 

I found my hairbrush in the very bottom of the duffel bag. My hair was quite impossible after having air dried, so I ended up tying it back in a ponytail. Then I dried myself off and got dressed in a pair of jeans and a tanktop. And a hoodie. It wasn’t cold in the hotel room, but I remembered how cold it had been outside. 

Greta was sitting in front of the little vanity when I emerged from the bathroom. I watched as she adjusted her already perfect curls and wondered how she managed to look so perfect all the time. Like this morning, where she was wearing a two piece suit. White pencil skirt and white blazer, but the red blouse I could see peaking up beneath the blazer created this really perfect contrast. 

I looked down at my own “jeans and hoodie”-attire. I looked exactly how I felt. Like someone who had just stumbled out of bed and into the shower, while Greta looked like she was ready to conquer the world. 

How does she do it? I silently wondered. 

“What?” she asked and glanced at me over her shoulder. 

“I’m just wondering how you do it.”

“Do what?” 

“Look so.... perfect. All the time.” 

She practically scoffed at that and turned her attention back to the mirror and her reflection. “When the inside is a mess, the least I can do is make sure the outside looks nice.” As she spoke, she grabbed onto the clear tube and secured the prongs in her nostrils. 

I was fully prepared to protest and tell her that no part of her was a mess, but I stopped with my mouth already open. Maybe this was a “Bad Day”. And maybe that was all the more reason to say what I wanted to say anyway. 

“I happen to love mess,” I told her. “In fact, mess is my favorite thing.” Make or break. Either she’s gonna scoff and tell me that I’m being ridiculous, or....

She laughed huskily. My little attempt was a success. Thank god. 

“Why don’t you sit down and have some breakfast?” she asked. “I’m sure you’re hungry.” 

“Like the wolf,” I assured her as I sat down in the armchair and rolled the little table with wheels closer. The breakfast really looked good. Buttered toast. Bacon. Eggs. A little pile of syrup covered pancakes. 

After a moment or so, Greta came over to sit down in the other armchair. Whilst I was eagerly digging into the little pile of pancakes, she opted for the buttered toast instead. 

“Are you ready to leave once we’ve had breakfast?” she asked and put the slice of bread down in favor of a cup of tea. 

“Yep.” I said and raised my own cup. It wasn’t coffee. It was hot chocolate. And it was exceptionally good. 

“Good.” She said plainly and brought the teacup up to her lips once more.

She seemed a little melancholic this morning and seeing how I didn’t want her to shrink further into herself, I reached out and took her hand in mine. I gave her fingers a tiny little squeeze and hoped that squeeze would tell her everything she needed to know. I’m here. Don’t shut me out. 

She squeezed back, and her eyes snapped up to focus on me. “I think you’ll like Verbier, ma jolie. It’s a very inspirational place. You’ll be able to write plenty there.” 

“Have you spent a lot of time up there?” I asked between mouthfuls of bacon. 

“Yes, some of my earliest memories are from Verbier,” Greta nodded. “I learned skiing up there.”

“You know how to ski?” I asked slightly surprised. I couldn’t really picture that. 

“Oh yes, I do,” she said amusedly. “And I’ll have you know I was quite good when I was younger.” 

“Huh.” I still had trouble picturing that.

She was still chuckling as she brought the teacup up to her lips once more. 

After our light breakfast it was time to say goodbye to hotel Adriatica. The last hotel. Our last hotel. This hotel stay had been so very different from our “usual” hotel stays, but in many ways this hotel stay had been better. I had found other ways to get closer to her. 

“Are you ready to leave?” she asked as I zipped the duffel bag and slung it over my shoulder. 

“Mhmm,” I nodded. 

“Good.” She lifted up her suitcase with one hand and used her other hand to drag the little trolley containing her oxygen tank. Then she headed for the door. 

I quickly followed her out of the hotel room and waited as she locked the door. Once that was done, she headed straight for the stairs. 

“We can take the elevator down to the lobby,” I said before I could stop myself.

“No, we’ll take the stairs,” Greta calmly answered and pushed at the trolley’s handle until there was a click. The handle shrank and could be tugged away in a little pocket at the very top. After a few more   
seconds of fumbling she lifted the trolley and strapped it onto her back exactly like it was a rucksack. 

“Come along,” she said over her shoulder.

Sensing that arguing would be pointless, I followed her down the stairs. It was by no means a steep staircase or anything, and we weren’t walking very fast either, but I could still hear how Greta’s breathing changed as we walked down the stairs to the lobby. 

I bit the inside of my cheek not to argue with her decision about taking the stairs. I would just have to trust that she knew what she was doing. 

By the time we reached the last step, Greta’s chest was rising and falling quickly though, and she stopped rather abruptly as we were about to head into the lobby to check out. I could see how her shoulders rose and fell as she took several deep breaths. 

“Greta,” I said, and like when I had suggested we took the elevator, it just slipped out of me. 

“It’s alright,” she assured me. “Just... Give me a minute.” 

“Of course. As long as you need.” I said firmly. 

She didn’t take a minute. She took ten seconds before she straightened her posture, flashed me a smile and then walked over to the receptionist like nothing had happened. 

I felt slightly stunned as I followed her. Her expression had changed faster than a traffic light. 

I left the checking out to her and kept in the background as she exchanged a few words with the receptionist. 

“Au revoir, Mademoiselle Adams,” said the receptionist and flashed Greta a rather warm smile. He was clearly a bit taken with “his” hotel guest. 

“Au revoir,” Greta said and then turned her attention to me. “Come on, mon ange. Let’s get going.” 

I smiled widely at that as I followed her out of the hotel. 

“Will you do something for me?” Greta asked as we found the car, she had rented on the parking lot and stuffed our luggage into the trunk. 

“Yes. Anything.” As long as it doesn’t involve going back to Seattle without her.

“Will you drive the car? At least the first hour. I’ll take the next hour,” she said and cupped my cheek gently. “I understand if you don’t want too, Céline. It’s perfectly alright.” 

“No, I’ll do it,” I said. There was no way I was gonna be a scardy cat when Greta obviously was too tired to drive. 

“Thank you, ma jolie,” she smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ll guide you.” 

And so, I climbed onto the driver’s seat and buckled up. Greta handed me the car keys and then buckled her own seatbelt. 

I felt a flicker of anxiety as I switched the engine on, but I did my best to quell it. I turned the car around. This was more than just a little bit daunting.... 

But Greta seemed perfectly at ease, and her voice was soft and low as she guided me the right way. 

At least I have to follow the same road for a little while, I told myself. If only my hands would relax on the wheel. 

“You are doing so well, Céline,” Greta praised as she leaned back in the passenger’s seat. 

“Thank you.” I shot her a sideway glance before quickly turning my attention back to the road. “Are you okay, though?” 

“Yes, sweetpea. I feel perfectly fine. Just a bit of fatigue.” She said. 

We drove in silence for a while, and to my surprise, I actually felt quite calm behind the wheel. I didn’t feel anxious in any way. I felt.... Fine. More than fine, actually. Suddenly, driving a car wasn’t a problem at all. Suddenly, driving around in a foreign car, in a foreign country was the easiest thing in the world. I shot Greta a quick, sideway glance. It’s her. It’s because of her. It couldn’t be anything else. The reason I was so calm, was because Greta was sitting next to me. 

I smiled a little. Driving in Switzerland? Piece of cake. Was this gonna be a regular thing? This feeling of being able to do anything as long as she was next to me? 

“Do you mind if I switch the radio on?” Greta asked and interrupted my musings. “I don’t have to if you find it too distracting.” 

“No, no, it’s fine,” I assured her. 

“Thank you,” she smiled and switched the radio on. After a bit of crackling I heard the vaguely familiar sound of Billie Holiday’s voice: 

“Have yourself a merry little Christmas

Let your heart be light

From now on, our troubles will be out of sight.

Have yourself a merry little Christmas

Make the Yuletide gay

From now on, our troubles will be miles away...”

 

“Oh,” Greta said and rolled her eyes. “Well, I suppose Christmas will come sooner rather than later.”

“Mmm,” I nodded. 

 

“Here we are as in olden days

Happy golden days of yore

Faithful friends who are dear to us

Gather near to us once more

Through the years we all will be together

If the fates allow

So hang a shining star upon the highest bough

And have yourself a merry little Christmas now

Have yourself a merry little Christmas.”

 

“How do you normally celebrate Christmas?” Greta asked as she turned the volume down on Frank Sinatra. 

I shrugged as best I could with both my hands on the wheel. “A tree, presents. You know, how it normally goes.” 

“You don’t sound very enthusiastic,” Greta observed. “Do you not like Christmas, ma bichette?” 

“I do actually,” I said. “But last year my mother chose to take a shift at the hospital the day before Christmas. And even though she was home on Christmas day, she was pretty stressed. And pretty much attached to her phone for the most of it.” 

“I see,” Greta said, and her beautiful mouth was turned into a thin line of dismay. 

“I’ve talked to her, by the way,” I said nonchalantly. “To my mother, I mean. I told her everything.” 

“Everything?” Greta echoed. “Then I am surprised you are here.”

“Okay, okay, maybe I left out a few details,” I spluttered.

“Wise decision.” 

“But largely, I told her everything,” I continued. “I finally found a way to say the things I’ve been wanting to say to her for a while.” 

“And how did she take that?” Greta asked calmly. 

“Well, at first she was how she normally is, but by the end of it, she actually apologized to me.” 

“And what exactly did she apologize for?” 

“Everything. I think.” 

“I am pleased for you.” 

“I told her about you,” I muttered and kept my gaze locked on the road. “That you were the other driver. The one I-“ 

“Shh,” Greta gently interrupted me. “None of that.” 

“And I also told her that I love you,” I stated plainly. 

“Did you now?” Greta said and leaned slightly forward in the passenger’s seat. “And the world didn’t come to an end?” 

“No,” I chuckled. “I mean, she was definitely shocked, but I think she’ll accept it. Eventually. And if she doesn’t... Well, that’s just too bad.” 

Greta barked out a husky laughter. “Such a rebel. I’m sure I’m not worth rioting for.” 

“I’d start a war for you.” I said and tried to sound nonchalant, but it came out more earnestly than nonchalant. 

“Take exit 18-Lausanne-Crissier,” was the only answer Greta saw fitting to my statement. 

I chuckled slightly as I did as she instructed. 

 

About an hour later, we switched place and Greta took the wheel exactly like she had said she would. And even though I protested against it (I didn’t want her to tire herself), I didn’t mind being the passenger. The landscape was changing from road and lake to mountains. 

“Wow,” I said plainly. 

“Welcome to Switzerland,” Greta said and chuckled huskily. “Be a dear and turn the volume up.” 

“Sure.” I turned the volume up, and the jazzy tunes filled the car. For a long while there was nothing but the melodious, wordless tune, but then Billie Holiday’s smooth voice joined in: 

“Blue moon you saw me standing alone

Without a dream in my heart

Without a love of my own

Blue moon, you knew just what I was there for

You heard me saying a prayer for 

Someone I really could care for,”

 

“I think we’ve landed on some sort of classic jazz channel,” I commented and snickered. 

“Possibly,” Greta agreed and her ice blue eyes gleamed as she hummed along. 

I don’t know what came over me. I really don’t. But suddenly, I found myself singing along: “and then there suddenly appeared before me, the only one my arms will hold-”

Greta gave me a sideway glance and she switched the volume down slightly. Obviously, that only embarrassed me, and I clammed up like an oyster. 

“No, keep singing,” Greta insisted. 

“Can’t,” I muttered and felt how I flushed crimson. 

She rolled her eyes slightly and the volume was turned up again, but this time her voice blended in with Billie Holiday’s: “Blue moon! Now I'm no longer alone, without a dream in my heart, without a love of my own.”

I shook my head. With all the things I found incredible about her, I shouldn’t be surprised that she was an excellent singer as well. 

“You have a nice voice,” I told her and smiled a little. 

Her eyes sparkled with amusement at that. “I’m afraid I’m quite rusty when it comes to singing.” She switched the volume down a notch again. 

I sat and wished she would sing again, but she didn’t. I looked out at the stunning view. 

“It won’t be long before we arrive,” Greta said.

“It’s fine,” I told her. I didn’t mind the drive one bit. “How can I possibly complain when this is the view?” I gestured at the mountains. 

Greta laughed. “I don’t think it’s half-bad we’ll be there soon. It looks like it’s gonna snow.” 

I forced my attention away from the all dominating mountains and looked up at the sky. She was right. The sky did look very dark. 

“Perhaps we’ll be snowed in,” Greta said almost nonchalantly. 

I smiled a little. Maybe I wouldn’t mind being snowed in one bit. Maybe I would actually love that. 

A new song started on the radio started, and this time, I was the one to turn the volume up when I recognized the first tunes of “Easy Living”. 

 

As the mountains started to dominate the landscape, it had actually started snowing. It was only light flutters, but the dark sky promised more snow. 

We had made one stop on the way, in a little village where Greta had gone into a store and returned with two grocery bags filled to the brim. 

“In case we really do get snowed in. It’s good to be prepared,” she had said when she returned to the car. 

I just nodded. I didn’t know much about being snowed in. And definitely not being snowed in in Switzerland. 

Then we continued, and I gaped more and more. This landscape was incredible. I had never seen anything like it. 

Greta flashed me a little smile as we drove up the mountain. Higher and higher still, and the higher we drove, the more impressive the landscape became. 

I leaned to the side and felt tempted to open the window to see as much as possible. As we continued our drive up the mountain, I could see a bunch of cabins spread all over. Most of them were big and   
lavish. This must be how the rich people holiday. 

“Wow.” I said again. 

“Welcome to Verbier,” Greta said. 

I shook my head. How could she possibly be this calm about this? 

“Are we going far?” I asked. 

“The chalet I’ve rented is a bit higher up on the mountain,” she replied. “I value privacy, and this should be relatively undisturbed.” 

“Okay.” 

I kept gawking as we continued our journey upwards. We passed many of the cabins on the way, and it was impossible not to feel overwhelmed. 

How the fuck did I end up here? I silently asked myself. I was just a girl from Seattle. This was miles from what I was used to. 

I was still in the middle of processing everything, including the amazing view, when Greta stopped the Mercedes in front of yet another cabin. Chalet, I mentally corrected myself. I stared. I don’t know why, but I had imagined something that was a little smaller than the other chalets. This was not smaller. But slightly distanced from the other chalets. Exactly like Greta had said. 

“Here we are then,” Greta said as she opened the car door and stepped outside. “Are you gonna sit there all day, or...?” 

I grabbed my duffel bag and followed her outside. Once again, I was immediately taken in by the stunning view. There was literally mountains everywhere I turned. 

“Don’t look down,” Greta quipped as she walked over to the chalet. She swiftly bent down and found the key under the doormat. 

“Shall we take a look inside?” Greta asked as she unlocked the door, she was clearly gently encouraging me to move and not just stand there. 

I quickly snapped out of it and followed her inside the cabin. 

“Holy....” I didn’t even bother finish the sentence. My eyes widened, and my mouth fell open with a soft pop. This was without a doubt the most amazing cabin I was ever gonna see in my life. All light   
wood and these big windows from where you could see the mountains. I barely noticed that Greta stepped outside again. I was much too busy being amazed at what I was seeing. The living room alone   
was enormous. The red chaise long seemed very sturdy, it clearly wasn’t a furniture you just pushed around. And the same for the wood bookshelves that were scattered across the room. Even the coffee table by the chaise long seemed to be unmovable. But the solid, heavy furniture’s somehow fitted the room perfectly. The only thing that wasn’t made of wood, was the amazing fireplace. It was carved out in stone, and it was without a doubt the most impressive fireplace I had ever seen. And those thick animal skins on the floor in front of the fireplace... I shook my head. And I thought those hotels had been impressive. Think again, Welles.

The kitchen wasn’t exactly your standard kitchen either. It was lavish and big enough for a small gathering. 

“Right then,” I muttered to myself. I hadn’t said it very loud, but my voice still echoed through the absurdly big kitchen.

“It’s rather nice here, isn’t it?” Greta said as she came into the living room. She was carrying the two grocery bags in one hand and balancing a moving box on her hip. 

I immediately scolded myself for standing here gaping instead of helping her moving stuff from the car. What if she tired herself?

“Have you checked upstairs?” she asked as she opened the fridge and started putting the groceries away. 

I shook my head. 

“Why don’t you run along and do it then?” she suggested. She didn’t sound out of breath, I noted. 

Wordlessly, I walked up the wooden staircase to the upstairs department. There were two bedrooms. One master bedroom, and one for guests. After finding my phone, I left my bag in the master   
bedroom. We wouldn’t need the guest room. I shook my head again as I opened the doors to the balcony and stepped outside for a moment. I looked out of the window. God what a view. And what a balcony. 

Then I continued down the hall. I ignored the guest bedroom, but I took a peek at the bathroom. I snorted quietly. The bathroom, yeah right. And how many bathrooms have a fucking spa bath? It felt as though I had stepped directly into some sort of wonderful but slightly unrealistic dream. 

How many people would choose this location as their hideout? Most people would probably choose a hot and sunny place, but not Greta. 

“This place is ridiculous,” I said when I returned downstairs and dumped my phone on the coffee table. “I mean, it’s wonderful, but it’s also...” 

“Nice?” Greta suggested calmly. She was done putting the groceries away and was instead bent over the fireplace. Her back was in the way, so I couldn’t exactly see what she was doing, but after a few   
minutes, fire started crackling within the fireplace. 

“That’s better,” she said satisfied. “It quickly gets cold without a fire.” As she spoke, she took of her big fur collar coat and slung it over the back of the nearest chair. 

I walked over to the window and looked out at all the other chalets. It was so quiet up here. So undisturbed. So.... Lonely.

“What were you planning on doing up here all alone?” I asked. 

Greta nodded to the box she had placed in the living room. “I brought my books. And believe it or not, some of my movies as well.” 

“That was your plan? To stay up here and just.... Read?” I asked. There was nothing wrong with that, but... 

Greta brushed invisible dust off her perfect white skirt. “I’m sure I could have coped. Somehow.” 

Somehow. “That sounds pretty lonely,” I said quietly and turned around to look at her. 

“Yes, I suppose it does,” Greta agreed. The wooden floor creaked slightly as she walked towards me. Soon she was standing in front of me, and her fingertips grazed my cheek lightly. 

I shivered. It was barely a touch, but I couldn’t hide my initial reaction. 

“But I don’t have to worry about being lonely now, do I?” she said just as quietly. 

“No. You don’t.” I don’t know how I made my voice obey. 

A moment later I didn’t know how I made my breathing obey. Greta closed the distance between us and pecked my lips lightly with her own. The slightest touch. It was barely a kiss, really. And it probably   
would have lasted even shorter if I hadn’t taken a step forward and slotted our lips together more properly. 

It happened immediately. The blood rolled quicker in my veins. My heart beat faster. Those horrible month where I had walked around in a zombie like daze completely melted away. I felt... I felt alive. Alive and reunited with my paradise. My missing piece. And only now I realized that this was the first kiss we had shared since that night at hotel Ballard, and I wondered why the hell I hadn’t kissed her the moment I laid eyes on her. 

I wrapped my arms around her neck and did my best to pour everything into this kiss. I’ve missed you. Don’t leave again. Don’t ever leave again. I don’t know what to do without you. I need you. I love you. So fucking much. 

She returned my kiss and one of her hands came up to pry my arm off her neck. But she didn’t bat it away. She simply took my hand in hers instead. 

Her lips against mine. Everything melted away. This could be another hotel room. Or her houseboat. Or even my living room back in Queen Anne. I didn’t care about the place. As long as she was here. As long as we were together. 

“I love you,” I said breathily as we parted to catch our breaths. Maybe I was saying that too much, but I didn’t care. 

“Céline,” she said softly, and never had my name sounded more beautiful. 

I kissed her again. I just had to. And I couldn’t hold back. When I slotted our lips together once more, it wasn’t particularly gentle. Surprised by my own intensity, I almost stumbled and had to grab onto the lapels of her blazer not to fall. 

A soft, surprisingly warm hand on my back supported me, and then Greta was walking me backwards, guiding me, so I didn’t stumble. 

I kept waiting for the back of my knees to collide with something, but it never happened. Instead Greta my hands and pulled me down on the animal skins in front of the fireplace. I didn’t really mind that. The animal skins were soft and thick. 

Greta wasn’t wasting any time. She unzipped my hoodie and slid it down my shoulders. I shivered. An automatic response. We were right in front of the fireplace, and the cabin wasn’t cold in any way. 

Then she was kissing me again. Less gentle than before. I was quite willing as I parted my lips and allowed her entrance. I felt dizzy, like I was half-drunk, but I still somehow managed to open the two buttons in her blazer and push it down the arms. She shrugged it off the rest of the way herself, and eager as I was, I unbuttoned the first button in the red blouse she was wearing underneath her blazer 

My fingers were trembling horribly though, and soon Greta’s fingers gently pushed them out of the way as she swiftly unbuttoned the rest of the buttons. 

She smiled a little, and I had a feeling it was because I was staring so unabashedly at her. “Take your shirt off.” She murmured. 

It was definitely an order, but it was an order I was more than willing to follow. Quickly, I pulled the tanktop over my head and moments later, landed on the floor with a soft thud. I shivered again as she raked her blunt fingernails over my ribcage. 

“Beautiful,” she muttered. 

I shook my head a little and placed my hand on top of hers to keep it there for a moment. The way she was looking at me didn’t make any sense. I didn’t make any sense that someone like her should give   
someone like me that look. 

“Tu es belle,” Greta said quietly as she reached up and freed my hair from the high ponytail. 

I shivered again as my hair fell in soft curls around my face. Was it the gesture, or was it hearing her speak French that did the trick? Or was it perhaps a combination of both? I wasn’t sure, but either way, my grip on her hand loosened, and she immediately took advantage of that. She stroked my cheek, then cupped it lightly.

As a moth drawn to the flame, I shuffled forward on my knees and kissed her again. Her hand slid from my cheek to the back of my neck to keep me where I was. 

I didn’t mind that either. This was exactly what I wanted to do. I wanted to kiss her. And I wanted to keep kissing her until the sun set. Until the sky darkened. Until the entire Switzerland was covered in snow. Until the universe imploded and bursted into a million flames. I wouldn’t notice. I wouldn’t notice anything. How could I, when I could feel the familiar pressure of her lips against my own? The familiar dance of her tongue against mine? My hands slid down her body, glided against the tight firmness of her stomach. Explored the soft curves of her hips. Everything between us, every meeting had been so stolen. There had never been enough time for me to truly explore her, and I wanted nothing more than to do just that. I wanted to know every inch of her. I wanted to discover every birthmark and every tiny little scar she might have. 

That was when I realized that her hands weren’t clasped behind my neck anymore. Instead she was reaching up. It took me a moment to realize that she was sliding the blouse down her shoulders. 

Somehow, the tube got caught in it, but Greta swiftly de-tangled it and removed the nasal cannula in the process. I already had a protest ready, she can’t remove that tube, she needs it, but then she was kissing me again, and whatever I wanted to say completely melted away. I couldn’t think of anything. Except for the way she was kissing me. 

Her hands didn’t return to the back of my neck. They crept behind me and unclasped my bra. I shivered again, and my head lolled back as her soft hands gently cupped my breasts. I couldn’t resist to adjust slightly, to push against her touch, and she broke the kiss and chuckled softly.

I felt half mad with need, and unable to contain myself, I crashed our mouths together once more. I needed her, more than I needed to breathe. She was my oxygen. The oxygen I had been denied for a month. My next fill was long overdue. My fingers tangled into her soft curls, but it was hard to keep kissing her when she was touching me like this. She made it hard to focus. I whimpered slightly into her mouth and then broke the kiss. My head lolled back again. The way she was tweaking my nipples made me aware of the growing pressure between my legs. My brain felt foggy, but a very small part of my mind reminded me that right now I wasn’t doing anything to reciprocate. I was just sitting here. Like I had done so many times before. I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to be passive. I wanted us to be equals. 

I found her mouth again and granted myself another doze of that oxygen I so desperately needed. My paradise. My hands slid up to cup her cheeks as we kissed. This... This was everything I would ever ask for. The only thing I’ll never need, the only thing I’ll ever crave. God, how I loved her. I needed... I needed to see her. All of her. I was just about to slide my hands to her back and unclasp her bra, like she had unclasped mine, when Greta suddenly broke the kiss. For a moment I feared that something had changed, that she had somehow changed her mind, but she didn’t push me away. Instead she bowed her head slightly, so her forehead was resting against mine. 

I opened my eyes to look at her. I didn’t understand why she was suddenly stopping. 

One of her hands came up and caressed my cheek lightly. “Sweetheart, I can’t breathe,” she murmured. 

Oh. Oh. Now I noticed that she, with her other hand was scrabbling around to find the tube. 

I was quicker than her and found the tube. It had tugged itself away underneath her blouse. That was why she couldn’t find it. 

“It’s right here,” I said gently. I didn’t really think about it. I just secured the tube behind her ears like I had seen her do and made sure the two little prongs were sitting where they were supposed to sit. It was only when I saw the look in her eyes that I realized that I had just helped her put her nasal cannula back in place. And she had let me. She hadn’t pushed me away. 

“Is that better?” I asked as I saw how she took several deep breaths. 

“Yes,” she said, and a small smile danced on her lips. “Thank you.”

“It was kinda... stuck... under your shirt,” I said a bit lamely. I wasn’t entirely sure how to process her gratitude. “Are you okay?” 

“I am,” she said and shook her head, so her hair danced around her face and covered most of the tube. “I would just have preferred to do this without the tube.”

“The tube is fine,” I said gently and leaned forward to peck her lips.

My kiss was immediately returned, and Greta took my hands, guided them behind her back and up to her bra. I was more than willing to follow her silent request, and I quickly unhooked her bra and slid the straps down her shoulders. Soon the garment lay side by side with my bra. Lace and cotton.

Greta pushed a stray curl behind her ear and flashed me a little smile. I wasn’t capable of returning that smile. My mouth had gone shockingly dry, and it didn’t really help when Greta took my hands and guided them to her breasts. Her nipples were hard. The pressure between my legs intensified. 

Greta kissed me again, and this time it was so very far from just a peck. She took my bottom lip between her teeth and nipped slightly. I don’t know how I managed to stay conscious. Or do anything else   
for that matter. My brain switched off and my instincts took over as I kneaded her breasts. 

Then her blunt nails were raking down my stomach again. All the way down to the top of my jeans. She never stopped kissing me as she undid the button and unzipped my jeans, and I fumbled blindly to push them down and shimmy out of them. Greta helpfully broke the kiss and gave me a second to be rid of the fucking jeans. As I wiggled to get out of them, I heard her release a tiny sound. She was clearly amused by my ministrations. 

“Are you laughing at me?” I asked as I finally successfully ridded myself of the jeans. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she assured me, and her ice blue eyes gleamed. 

I was pretty sure she was laughing at me, but my indignation seemed to vanish in thin air as she unzipped her pencil skirt and elegantly wiggled out if. As in really elegantly. I would have to take notes. 

I swallowed as I looked at her. Even though I would never figure out how to wear them myself, I was immensely grateful for thigh highs and garters right now. Seriously, HOW can she be this perfect? 

Her fingers hooked under my chin as she tilted my face up, so I was looking her in the eyes. I kept looking as she unclipped the garters, but I stopped her when she was about to slide the stockings down her legs. Gently, I pushed her hand out of the way and let my fingers replace hers. 

Greta looked a bit surprised but had no protests as I slid one stocking down one smooth, creamy leg. She didn’t say anything, but I could see her chest rising and falling a bit faster than before. This time   
I didn’t address it. I knew her change in breathing had very little to do with her oxygen level. 

Another sound escaped her, and this time she didn’t sound amused. I flashed her a little smile as I very slowly slid the other stocking down her leg. She didn’t smile back. Instead she readjusted so she was lying on her back on the thick animal skins. For a long time, I had been mesmerized by her face. Her hair, her incredible eyes. Her plump lips. And her voice. That was what first had caught my attention. That smoky, raspy voice of hers. Her hands had been the next thing. Her slender, soft hands. But why the hell have I never paid more attention to her legs? I wondered as I stilled with one hand on her ankle. Her new position meant that the leg I was holding on to was raised slightly in the air. Why had I never thought of appreciating her legs? Raising the ankle I was holding on to further, I didn’t hesitate before I pressed a light kiss to it. Her leg twitched, and she muttered something. 

I smiled. That was definitely not English. A part of me wanted to know what she just said. But the dominating part of me couldn’t care less. I lowered her leg onto the floor and gave the side of her knee a little tap. She quickly got the hint and parted her legs. I shuffled forward on my knees, so I was in between her legs. Then I lowered my mouth and gave her thigh a light peck. Then the other. Her legs twitched again, and her stomach muscles flexed. 

I kissed a path from her knee and all the way up to her inner thigh. As I switched side to give her other leg the same treatment, I saw how her fingers were digging into the fur she was lying on. 

By the time I gave her inner thigh one final peck, her breathing was completely erratic, and I took the time to ask myself whether this was too much. Does she need to breathe? Does she need a break? 

But Greta was having none of that. Her fingers crept into my hair and she was tugging slightly as she brought me up to lie on top of her. 

I still remembered what had happened the last time I was lying on top of her. “Are you sure this is okay?” 

“It’s a little better than okay, sweetheart,” came her soft reply. 

“I’m not crushing you?” 

“No, Céline. You are not crushing me,” she murmured and brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. 

I never the less adjusted slightly on top of her and then dipped down to kiss the soft spot just below her ear. Once I was done paying attention to that particular spot, I dotted kisses all over her neck. I wasn’t looking for any spot in particular. I didn’t need to. Planting kisses at random all over her neck was more than enough. 

I could keep doing forever. I wouldn’t mind doing this for as long as I-

“Mmm!” I interrupted my own train of thoughts. I had been much too busy to notice that her fingers were no longer in my hair. Instead they had slipped down my body, and now they were hooking around the waistband of my underwear. I couldn’t keep up the attention I was giving her neck. The pressure between my legs had suddenly become rather acute. 

Greta slid the panties down my legs, and I wiggled halfheartedly to be ridded completely of them. I didn’t succeed. They ended up curling around my ankle. Not that I was paying any attention to it. How could I, when Greta’s hand slid in between my legs and cupped me. 

Her chest rumbled. She was amused again. I would be too if she was the one who was practically melting on top of me. 

Her fingers easily found my clit, and now it my turn to jerk my legs. That little touch alone was enough to make my brain foggy and my legs jelly. 

“F-fuck,” I mumbled into her neck. 

“Pardon?” Greta teased sweetly. Her fingers were teasing me. Touching me, but not properly. Not the way I wanted to be touched. 

“Touch me,” I croaked and lifted my head to make myself a bit more coherent. 

“I am touching you, Céline,” she gently retorted. 

I shook my head. “You’re t-teasing. It’s... Not fair.” 

She chuckled lightly as she grazed my clit with her fingertip. My otherwise well-functioning jaw turned to complete mush and my mouth fell open with a soft pop. 

Now she wasn’t just teasing anymore. Her touches became more determined, and I could feel how my entire abdomen tightened. The warmth within me threatened to spill over. I moaned breathlessly and buried my face in the crook of her neck again. 

“Sit up,” she whispered. 

“I-what?” in my mind, that didn’t make a wink of sense. 

“Sit up,” she repeated. 

I tried to get my legs to cooperate and tried to get my brain to actually send the message about moving to my legs, but it was all in vain, and by the time my foggy brain finally woke up, Greta had already brought herself up in a sitting position, pulling me with her, so I was sitting in her lap. She was very patient as she instructed me to wrap my legs around her waist. 

“That’s better,” she said and pushed my tangled hair away from my face. “I’d like to keep looking at you.” Her hand slid down and she found my clit with her finger again. 

My first initial reaction was to bury my face in the crook of her neck again, but she had said she wanted to keep looking at me. She couldn’t do that if I hid my face. I don’t know where I got the willpower to keep my head up from. Every part of my body felt completely liquefied. 

“Tu es si belle,” Greta murmured as she with her other hand reached up and brushed my hair away from my face. 

My entire body quivered at that. I had a vague idea what she was saying, but it wasn’t just that. It was everything. Being with her again. Having her this close. She didn’t feel unobtainable anymore. I had found a way to her. 

“Sans toi, je ne suis rien,” she said quietly. “Je t’adore.”

I whimpered in response and grabbed onto her shoulders for support. “Greta...” 

“I know,” she breathed. “Just go with it, sweetheart. Follow your body.”

I let out a strangled sound that was something between a moan and a whimper. My abdomen tightened again, but this time there was no putting it off. No way of ignoring the tight pull between my legs. 

“Let go for me, Céline,” she whispered. “Go on.” 

That was all the encouragement I needed. I fell apart with her name on my lips, and inexplainable tears streaming down my face. Crying now was completely irrational. I had no reason to cry now that   
Greta was cupping my face with one hand. 

“It’s alright,” she said gently as I sniffled slightly. “I’ve missed you too.” 

“Don’t leave again,” I whispered. “I can’t-“ 

“I won’t,” she softly interrupted me and peeled my hand off her shoulder. Gently, she brought it up to her lips and kissed my knuckles. “Where ever I go next, you’re coming with me.” she vowed. 

It all became too much. I buried my face in the crook of her neck and sobbed. My body was still trembling from the intense pleasure seconds ago. 

Greta lightly scratched up and down my back. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “So sorry.” 

“Don’t... apologize,” I croaked. I didn’t need to hear any apologies. I just needed this. To be close to her. 

“I think that’s my line,” she softly pointed out. 

Between the sobs I let out a watery chuckle, and now I actually felt slightly embarrassed for breaking down like this. 

But Greta was having none of my embarrassment. She cupped my face as she kissed me once more, and I could taste my salty tears on her lips. Last time, she had been the one who had cried. This time, it was me. 

I sniffled again. Maybe I had no reason to be embarrassed. Maybe this was the second release I needed. Maybe crying was healthy. 

When my sniffles had turned into soft hiccups, Greta gently guided me to lie down on the animal skin. Once I was lying down, she followed suit and lied down herself.

“Come to me,” she said quietly and opened her arms. 

I immediately slid closer, and she gathered me in her arms, stroked my hair, caressed my cheek. 

“You’ll be cold,” I muttered. The flickering flames in the fireplace couldn’t possibly be enough to keep her warm. 

“No, I won’t.”

“I don’t want you to freeze,” I said and tried to sound like I knew what I was talking about. “Maybe I should find us a blanket or somethi-“ 

“No. Stay,” Greta said quietly but firmly. So firmly, I stretched my neck to look up at her. 

“Many, many times I’ve asked you to leave,” Greta continued and gave my cheek another soft caress. “Now I’m asking you to stay.”

I found myself shockingly close to tears again as I completely melted in her arms.


	51. Chapter Fifty One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not speak French :)

One month later-

 

“Merry Christmas,” Greta said as I rolled onto my side to look at her. 

“Merry Christmas,” I yawned and rubbed the remain of sleep from my eyes. 

She chuckled. “Still a bit tired, mon ange?” 

“No, no, I’m awake,” I said. But I couldn’t do anything about the yawn that forced its way out of my mouth. My jaw gave a soft pop. 

“Careful,” Greta scolded lightly. “I need your jaw in one piece. And the rest of you, for that matter.” 

“Likewise,” I said and raised on one elbow. “Have you been awake for long?” 

“Around twenty minutes or so,” Greta said as she raised her arms in possibly one of the most seductive stretches I had ever seen. “But you weren’t awake yet, so...” she trailed off and shrugged nonchalantly. 

I smiled. After about a week in the cabin, Greta had developed a new habit. Staying in bed until I woke up. Of course, there were mornings where she sometimes took her pills earlier, but she always came back to bed afterwards and, as she put it, “lied around” until I woke up. 

And I loved it. I loved that she wasn’t in a rush to get out of bed anymore. And I loved that she acknowledged how important this was to me. 

“Did you sleep alright?” she asked as she carefully peeled the special tape off that kept her nasal cannula in place at night. 

“Yep.” I said and stretched like she had done a moment ago. 

“Good.” Greta said and brushed a finger through her curls. They were a bit wild this morning. 

I smiled at my predicable answer. I could without lying say this month had given me the best sleep I had experienced since the accident. My insomnia was gone. Completely vanished. Like it had never existed. Each night I went to bed content, and each morning I woke up happy. I had gotten a taste of that happiness during my stay with Greta in her houseboat, and I was still struggling to wrapping my head around the fact that this time it was permanent. There was nothing that could come between us anymore. 

Greta stood from the bed and slipped the white silk bathrobe over her shoulder. The fabric dragged over the floor, and the wheels on the little trolley containing her oxygen made a soft “vrr, vrr, vrr”-sound it dragged over the soft carpet in the bedroom. I had leaned to identify that sound fairly early on. A moment later, I heard the door to the bathroom being opened and then closed. And then the tap being switched on. 

I hadn’t even sat up when she returned with a glass of water in her hand. Her curls weren’t wild anymore, but neat and silky as they brushed against the top of her shoulders. She had clearly brushed her hair. Of course she had. She didn’t like “looking a mess” as she said. 

“Are you planning on sleeping Christmas day away, sweetpea?” she inquired as she reached inside the bedside drawer and found all the little bottles containing her medicine. 

“No, but you could always... Y’know... give me an excuse to stay in bed?” I said innocently and batted my brown eyes at her. 

She rolled her own ice blue eyes at me, and then she leaned her head back slightly as she downed the multiple pills with lots of water. She didn’t like swallowing pills. She had revealed that to me one day when I caught her grimace after she had taken her medicine. She said it made her throat constrict. I felt for her. With all the medicine she had to take, this had to be a nightmare for her. 

But this morning she seemed perfectly calm as she sat the now empty glass of water down. I still checked her face for any discomfort, though. 

“Are you okay?” I asked and stretched one hand out to touch her arm. The only part of her I could reach from this position. 

“I am,” she said and gave my hand a light pat. “You needn’t worry.” 

But I did never the less. “Does anything... hurt?” 

“No, chest pains are delightfully absent this morning,” she half-quipped. 

“I’m glad to hear that.” Greta often got chest pains. Sometimes they were so bad she had to take a pill for it. A pill followed by a nap either on the couch or in the bed. She always felt better when she had   
slept. 

But there were also days where she was less marked by her illness. Those were the days where we went out for either lunch or dinner. One day we had driven to Montreux and visited this amazing Christmas market. That had really been something. There had been light and snow everywhere. And the best crepes I had ever tasted. 

Greta had been tired once we got back, but she had brushed it off and claimed that it had “been completely worth it”. 

“Shall we see what Père Noël brought us?“ Greta quipped as she adjusted her robe slightly. 

“I didn’t know you still believed in Santa Clause,” I said and went along on the joke. 

“Where do you suppose the presents come from, ma jolie?” 

I snickered. 

“Perhaps Père Noël is a bit farfetched,” she admitted. “But I am a believer of the impossible.” She looked at me and then reached out and touched my cheek. She gave it a light pat, and after a moment she left the bedroom with the words “if you want your coffee warm, you better come downstairs, mademoiselle Welles.” 

I smiled a little as I shuffled and swung one leg out of bed. During this month, Greta had gradually let me in more and more. It was as though she had finally realized that i was here to stay. That I refused to let her become a victim to her loneliness. Of course, the road hadnt been completely smooth, but we were finally getting somewhere, and the way she had looked at me a moment ago reminded me of our first morning here.....

 

'My head felt fuzzy when I woke up. It didn’t feel like I had slept for very long, and I couldn’t figure out whether I was right, or the time difference was still screwing with me.

I rolled onto my side. The first thing that met my tired eyes were Greta’s ice blue ones. She looked like she had been awake for much longer than I. 

I almost held my breath as I waited for her to say something. What kind of Greta would I meet this morning? This was usually the point where she regretted. The moment her eyes were full of doubt, and her voice brimming with uncertainty. She always regretted when we woke up side by side. 

What will it be today? I wondered. Brusque Greta? Annoyed Greta? Or maybe even disinterested Greta? The thought of that made my stomach twist with anxiety. I remembered disinterested Greta from the morning at hotel Ballard. 

But Greta calmly returned my gaze, and I almost twitched in surprise when her soft fingers glided over my cheek. 

“Good morning,” she said quietly. 

“G-good morning,” I replied and tried to sound like my normal self. 

“Did you sleep alright?” she inquired. 

“Mhmm,” I nodded. “Yeah. Did you?” 

“Yes.” She said plainly. Her fingers dusted over my cheekbone. 

“Good.” I fell silent and studied her face carefully. For some reason, I was expecting to see a flicker of doubt in her eyes. I expected her to pull back, like she always did. 

But there was no uncertainty in her eyes. She looked, well... If I didn’t know any better, I would say she looked.... at peace, somehow. 

“Is there something wrong?” she asked calmly. 

“No, not at all,” I said. “I’m just...” I trailed off. I didn’t know how to tell her that I was expecting her to regret everything in a moment. 

To my surprise, Greta laughed a little. A dark, rich sound in the back of her throat. “You look at me like I’m some bomb about to explode, Céline. Am I really that bad?” 

“No,” I said automatically. “Of course you’re not. It’s just...” 

“There really is no reason to sugarcoat it, mon chérie,“ she gently interrupted me. “I’m well aware that I’ve treated you horrible.” 

“You haven’t,” I said firmly. 

Greta raised an eyebrow. “I believe I have. You are just being kind.” 

I slid closer to her. “Maybe you’ve been a little brusque with me, but you’ve never been horrible.” 

“That’s a direct lie, ma jolie.” 

I snickered lightly. “You are making up for it right now.” 

“It will take more than just this,” Greta said and shook her head a little. 

“I’m willing to wait and see whatever else you can come up with,” I laughed.

“Is that so, miss Welles?” she purred, and I squeaked in surprise when she suddenly was very much on top on me. 

“Are you interested in knowing what I can come up with right now?” she teased as she played with the hem of the t-shirt I was wearing to bed. 

“Very,” I said and swallowed thickly. 

“Magnifique,“ Greta said, and her voice dropped in that particular way. That way that turned my stomach into soup and my brain to mush. 

And she knew it. She chuckled richly as she sat back on her heels and then slowly lifted my shirt. “Arms up, sweetheart.” 

I willingly stretched my arms up above my head, and Greta lifted the shirt and pulled it over my head. I didn’t move my arms. I just settled for shaking my head to get the hair out of my eyes. 

“Lovely,” Greta purred. “Perhaps I should ask you to keep those lovely arms there. You look quite fetching like this.” 

I wished I had a sharp answer, but I blushed like an idiot instead. I would just have to accept that I couldn’t keep up when she was talking like this. 

“Vous êtes merveilleux,” she said as she ran her fingers over my stomach. 

“Stop speaking French,” I groaned. “It’s not fair!” 

“Oh oui, ça l'est,” Greta laughed and kissed my cheek. Then my neck. Down my chest, dipped her tongue into my navel, came up to pepper my right breast with kisses. My entire body immediately reacted   
to it, and I could feel the first tingles of excitement low in my stomach.

“Shall I teach you a little French, mademoiselle Welles?” Greta asked teasingly. 

I blinked confused. A language lesson wasn’t exactly what I had imagined for right now. But the way she said it made me nod slowly and say: “yeah.” 

“One last lesson,” she said huskily as she once again came up. Her fingers rested lightly on my cheek. 

I shivered a little. 

“Joue,“ Greta said as she kissed my cheek lightly. Moving to my lips and pecking them ever so lightly, she said: “lèvres“

I shivered again. My arms were still stretched out above my head. 

“Mâchoire,“ she said as she kissed my jaw. 

I swallowed thickly.

“Menton,” she continued as she kissed my chin. 

“Oreille,” Greta murmured lowly as she licked the shell of my ear. Her teeth dragged lightly over my earlobe, and she very, very gently bit down on it. 

I moaned, and my hands curled into fists. 

“Point d'impulsion,“ she purred as she sucked lightly on my pulse point.

“Lobe d'oreille, she breathed, quietly, as she brought her lips back to my earlobe, and I shivered from head to toe. 

She kissed a pattern from my ear and down my neck. “Cou,” she said. Next, the top of my shoulder. “Épaule” 

“Mmm!” I breathed, and my voice wasn’t nearly as quiet as it was before. Right now, she was combining two of the things I loved most. When she kissed me, and when she spoke French. And it was driving   
me insane.

Greta paid little attention to my insanity. She kept kissing her way down my arm. “Coude,” she murmured as she kissed my elbow lightly. Her lips continued their journey. “Avant bras.” Further down my arm. “Poignet.” 

“This is not fair,” I muttered. 

She chuckled into my skin and made it vibrate slightly. That didn’t exactly help the manner. And she wasn’t done yet. Well, she was done with my arm, but not the rest of me. She shifted slightly in the   
bed, so she was now positioned near my legs. Her eyes were full of mischief when she lifted my foot and placed a feather light kiss on my ankle. “Cheville.”

I groaned and moved my arm slightly to twist the bedsheet between my fingers. 

“Le genou,” Greta continued as she reached my knee and placed a light kiss on it.

“I’ll never take another French lesson again in my life,” I vowed. Thanks to Greta’s impromptu lesson, I would never be able to keep a straight face during an actual lesson. 

She chuckled again, and the effect of her amusement was tiny little goosebumps on my thigh.

“Cuisse,” she said as she planted another light kiss on my skin. 

I moaned deeply. That had not just been my thigh. That had been my inner thigh. 

She was done with my leg, and I felt every bit grateful that she didn’t insist on repeating the action on my other leg. 

But my relief only lasted until she said: “turn around if you please, mademoiselle Welles.” 

“Why?” I groaned. 

“Because I am not done teaching you French,” she teased. 

I groaned again as I did as instructed and turned around. This was definitely not fair either. 

She brushed my hair away slightly, and then her lips were on my skin again. Lightly grazing my upper back.“Le haut du dos,“ she murmured. 

I could my abdomen murmur after her at that. 

Her lips followed my spine. “Le dos,“ she said huskily.

“Greta...” 

“Non, mademoiselle Welles,” she replied. “Pas encore.”

“And what does that mean?”

“Soyez patient,” was the only answer she provided me with. 

I groaned. I didn’t need a translation for that. 

“Alors...” Greta continued as she lightly kissed my lower back. “Le bas du dos.“

I cried out muffled into the pillow, and I had to press my thighs together. 

And then suddenly, Greta’s hand landed rather sharply on my ass. 

I squealed in surprise, and once again, the sound was slightly muffled by the pillow. 

“Le derrière,“ she teased and chuckled fruitily. 

“That hurt!” I groaned. But I wasn’t complaining. Not really. I didn’t mind that little smack at all. 

She laughed again, and the sound was enough to make more wetness pool between my legs. 

Greta was quick to roll me onto my back again. She smirked at me as she palmed my right breast. “Sein,“ she said, and her voice had dropped an octave or two. 

My back arched as she squeezed my breast a little, and I cried out again. 

“Mamelon,“ she continued huskily as she rolled my hard nipple between her fingers. 

“Mmmph! Greta... I can’t... Stop teasing, damn it!” I moaned. “I’m going insane.” 

“Fou?” Greta said and played the innocent as she continued to pluck at my nipple. “Non, mademoiselle Welles.” Her fingers hooked around the waistband of my underwear, and I sighed once I realized that she had clearly decided to take mercy on me after all. 

“Oh god!” her tongue was suddenly dipping into my navel again. 

“Nombril,“ she teased and snickered once. 

“Greta, come on! That’s not fair!”

Another throaty laugh, and then- I gasped, and my legs jerked uncontrollably- her finger slipped through my folds. 

“Mouillure,“ Greta said lowly. “Mon dieu, très mouillé.” Her finger swirled around my entrance, and then she brought the now wet digit up to her lips and sucked lightly. 

I panted as another surged of wetness made itself known between my legs. God, what she was doing right now shouldn’t be legal!

“Délicieux.“ she said as she swirled her tongue over her finger once more. “Très délicieux.“

“Greta!” I breathed. “Please just... I NEED you!” 

“Tu fais?” she answered with faux innocence as she ran two fingers through my folds. “Oh, oui. To fais.”

I gasped sharply, and my hips twitched. 

And then she was lightly cupping me in her hands. “Foufoune,“ she said, and now there was an unmistakable gleam in her eyes. No doubt she had just spilled a word I would never hear her use the English version of. Had the situation been any different, I would have laughed. 

But I couldn’t laugh. I even had trouble breathing. 

“Shall I teach you more French, ma jolie?” she asked huskily. She was still cupping me. 

“N-no,” I breathed. “Please... just.... I want... I need...” 

“What do you need, mon ange?” Greta asked, and when I raised my head slightly, I could see how dark her eyes had gone. 

“I...” I couldn’t get the words out. 

“Tell me,” she coaxed gently. “What do you need? Ma langue? Or perhaps mes doigts?”

I groaned. I had no idea what either of those two options meant. 

“Take your pick,” she cooed. “What will it be, mademoiselle Welles?” 

“The.... The first one!” I gritted out and wiggled a little in the bed. 

“Ma langue?” 

“Yes!” I hissed, even though I had no idea what I was agreeing to right now.

“I see,” Greta said as she spread my legs until I was sprawled widely on the bed. “Good choice, ma jolie.” 

I never got a chance to answer her. Suddenly, I was very much distracted by the way her tongue slipped through my folds and then pressed against my entrance. I almost screamed, and she had to put a hand on my stomach to keep me still as she slipped her tongue inside me. 

My hands immediately tangled into her soft curls. Ma langue. I didn’t know much French, but at least I knew what THAT meant now. 

And then I abandoned all thought of French words and what they meant. The only thing on my mind right now, was Greta’s tongue and the way it moved flawlessly inside me. Everything else melted away.   
Everything else became unimportant. Insignificant. I cried out sharply as her fingers ventured down and found my clit. I think I screamed her name. 

Her other hand, the one that had rested on my stomach, now ventured down as well. She gave my knee a light tap with her fingertips, and I immediately got the message and hooked my legs over her shoulders. She liked when I did that, and I liked when I did that, too. In fact, I loved it. 

Every part of me was on fire, and yelling her name again, I rolled my hips in sync with her movements. My body always seemed to know exactly how to match her rhythm. It was never clumsy or out of sync. 

We matched. We always found the right pace no matter what. 

My back arched almost painfully. In a moment, I would fall apart for her, like I always did. In a moment, my body would become limp and gooey, and I would find myself unable to move. And she would tease me with it. Like she always did. She would call me “very sweet” in the most affectionate way imaginable, and then she would take me in her arms, ask me to “come to her”. 

I would do that. As I would come for her in something that only felt like seconds. Sometimes I wished that I could hold out a little longer. Prolong the pleasure just a little bit.

I couldn’t. I came undone with a shout, and my hips bucked uncontrollably. 

Greta kept feeding my orgasm with each steady push of her tongue until I fell back against the bed, panting and with my legs still hooked over her shoulders. 

Greta lifted her head. Smirked a bit at me. Her lips were glistening, I noted. “Un de plus,” she said huskily. 

“And what does... That mean?” I said strangled. 

“That means.... she pursed her lips and blew air on my sensitive clit. My hips bucked again. 

“One more,” she teased. “Make yourself comfortable, mon ange.” 

I huffed as I adjusted myself slightly on the bed. 

“And keep your lovely legs where they are,” Greta added and smirked at me again. “Good girl.” With that her lips wrapped around my clit, and my back arched again. It felt like a sucker punch of pleasure surging through me. I couldn’t think. And I would last long this time either. My mind was already chanting what my lips were unable to say right now. 

Greta, Greta, Greta, Greta, Greta! 

When I finally breathed her name, it was barely a whisper. My voice didn’t obey me. She had successfully stolen my ability to speak. Again. 

But I didn’t care. My hips bucked once more, and my fingers fisted the bedding. The fire was starting as a slight burning sensation in my heels. Soon it would travel to my calfs, my thighs, and up, up, up. 

I pressed my palms flatly against the bed as I braced myself for what was to come. 

I would definitely ask her for another French lesson in the very near future.' 

 

“Céline! Your coffee is getting cold.” 

Greta’s voice brought me back to reality, and all the lovely memories about our first morning here quickly faded. I shook my head a little as I stumbled into the bathroom and got a move on. And that’s enough dwelling for today. I couldn’t stay up here and get lost in the memories, no matter how fucking fantastic they were.

I chuckled as I brushed my teeth. 

 

She hadn’t been exaggerated. My coffee was kind of lukewarm when I joined her in the kitchen and took the first sip of the coffee. 

“You shouldn’t have dawdled then,” was Greta’s not-so-understanding answer. 

I chuckled and looked out of the window. “Well, at least we couldn’t have asked for better Christmas weather.” Everything was white and glittering faintly in the sunlight. 

“No, but we can’t leave the house either,” Greta pointed out. 

“And why should we?” I shrugged. “I don’t mind being here. We can light the fireplace and watch a movie.” 

“That’s how you want spent Christmas?” 

“Yeah. I couldn’t think of a better way to spend Christmas.” 

“That’s a good thing. Because it’s the only way we can spend Christmas,” Greta said a bit sardonically. 

I laughed and was just about to take another sip of my coffee and dig into the breakfast, when I remembered something. Something I had forgotten. Something crucial on Christmas day. 

“I’ll be back in two seconds,” I said over my shoulder as I quickly scurried back upstairs. I didn’t give her enough time to answer.

Once upstairs in the bedroom, I quickly opened the closet and found what I was looking for in the very back of it. A neatly wrapped present. Which hadn’t been wrapped by me. Thankfully. I was a disaster when it came to wrapping presents. The tape always ended up everywhere but on the present. 

But this present was perfectly wrapped in festive wrapping paper and with a cute little red ribbon and everything. 

I smiled as I weighed the present in my hand and then I hurried back downstairs. 

“I’ve got you something,” I announced as I re-entered the kitchen. 

“Have you now?” she teased. “And what on earth could that be?” 

“Why don’t you open it and find out?” I suggested as I laid the present in front of her. 

“Very well,” she chuckled as she lifted the present and shook it once to check if anything was rattling inside. 

I took another sip of my coffee and buttered a piece of toast while I waited for her reaction. 

And I didn’t have to wait long. She was quick to tear through the wrapping paper, and the delight was obvious on her face as she lifted the lid off the box the present had been stuffed into. 

“I’ll say,” she said as she lifted the red pillbox hat out of the box. “That was very thoughtful of you, sweetpea.” 

I chuckled. “That is your style, isn’t it?” 

“It is,” she confirmed. “Where on earth did you find it?” 

“You’ll never know,” I teased. “Try it. Let me see.” 

She rolled her eyes but never the less did what I asked and tried on the hat for me. 

“Nice,” I laughed. “It suits you.” 

“Tell Père Noël that he has good taste,” Greta drawled as she slipped the pillbox hat off. 

I snickered again. 

“Thank you, Céline,” she said, and now she sounded a bit more earnestly. She lightly put her hand over mine. 

“You’re welcome,” I said as I immediately turned my hand upwards, so I could hold her hand more properly. 

“It’s very pretty,” Greta said and gave my fingers a slight squeeze. 

“I’m glad you like it,” I said and added a cheeky: “do I get my present now?” 

One of her perfectly sculped eyebrows rose, and her voice was honey sweet as she said: “well, that depends.... Have you been naughty or nice this year, miss Welles?” 

“Uhh...” brain bluescreened. Again. 

“Well?” Greta pressed and chuckled fruitily. 

“Nice,” I squeaked. “Definitely nice.” At least that was what was coming out of my mouth. My mind was swirling around things that were definitely more naughty than nice. Like our first morning, which I   
had just shamelessly relived. 

“I think that’s arguable, mon chérie, but I’ll choose to believe you,” Greta said and chuckled lightly. Then she moved her hand away from mine and into the pocket of her bathrobe. A little box was revealed and slid towards me. 

I eagerly wrenched the lid off the little box, and when I couldn’t find anything at first, I snatched the box and turned it upside down. Something made a soft, jingling sound as it landed in my palm, and it took me a moment to realize that it was some sort of jewelry. 

It was a bracelet. A delicate, golden bracelet. From what I reckoned, it would perfectly across my wrist. 

“This is beautiful,” I said as I weighed the bracelet in my hand. It really was. And it was probably expensive too. 

Greta smiled a little, but it looked like she was waiting for something. 

“What?” I asked and raised an eyebrow. 

“I suggest you take a closer look at the bracelet.”

That wasn’t very helpful, but I never the less did what she said and “took a closer look” at the bracelet. 

“Oh.” Now I knew what she was waiting for. “There is something engraved.” 

“Well caught,” Greta nodded and chuckled fruitily again. 

I squinted slightly as I read the words aloud: “plus que jamais, c'est toi.“ I looked up at her. “What does that mean?” 

“’More than ever, it’s you’” Greta quietly translated for me. 

More than ever, it’s you. A massive lump formed in my throat. “That’s really...” My voice chose that exact moment to fail me. I cleared my throat and tried again: “that’s really beautiful. I love it. And I love you.” 

“I love you too.” 

My grip on the little box loosened, and it landed on the table with a soft thud. But I didn’t care. I just looked at her. 

Of course, there wasn’t a flicker of doubt in my mind about how Greta felt about me. She had told me in so many ways already, but she had never used the exact words. I had never actually heard the words “I love you” out of her mouth, and it completely took my breath away to hear them now. 

“What did you... What did you say?” I asked dumbly. 

She shook her head a little. “I think you heard me the first time, Céline.” 

“Say it again? Please?” 

She sat her teacup down and narrowed her ice blue eyes at me. 

“Please?” I said again. Maybe I was pushing the matter, but I didn’t care. 

Another eyeroll. Another shake of her head that made her curls bounce around her beautiful face, and then quietly, but very clearly: “I love you. Je t’aime.” 

My face split into a grin. 

“I won’t say it again,” Greta warned. “Not today, at least. You won’t hear me say it many times. I’m not...” she shook her head again and sighed. “I’m not very good at voicing...” 

“It’s okay,” I gently interrupted and reached out to touch her hand again. “I just needed to hear it twice. In English and French.” 

Greta nodded slightly. “Give me your wrist and lets see if the bracelet fits.” 

I willingly stretched my arm out towards her and handed her the bracelet. 

“There,” Greta said satisfied as she fastened the bracelet around my wrist. 

“Perfect fit,” I smiled. 

“Indeed.” 

My phone tjing-tjing’ed and I only reluctantly released Greta’s hand to see what it was about. It was quickly revealed that it was Michelle who wished us a merry Christmas. 

I smiled and texted her back. She was always texting, no matter what time it was back in Seattle. Maybe we could Facetime later. We had done that a lot since I had gone to Switzerland. We kept in touch.   
All three of us. 

“Have you heard from your mother yet?” Greta inquired and took another sip of her tea. 

“No, not yet, but I probably will later.” My mother had surprised me by texting consistently and asking about my day, the weather in Switzerland, and even about Greta’s health. To be honest, the communication between me and my mother was better now than ever, and I was thrilled about it. It gave me hope for the future. 

“Tell your friends merry Christmas from me,” Greta said. 

I smiled as I did just that. 

 

After breakfast, we moved into the living room. Or, I did. Greta went upstairs to get dressed. I busied myself with getting the fireplace going. Greta often felt cold. She claimed that the best cure for that was having me lying close to her, but since I unfortunately couldn’t do that all the time (even though I wanted to), I saw it as my very important job to make sure the fireplace was lit at all times. 

It had taken me a week or so to work out how to light the fireplace, but I had gotten the hang of it, and I felt ridiculously proud of myself when I saw the flames dancing within the fireplace. 

“That looks very nice, mon ange.” 

I looked up when Greta spoke. I hadn’t even heard her come downstairs again. She must have carried her oxygen tank instead of dragging it behind her. 

“Uhh...” I said as I looked at her. Brain fucking bluescreened. Again. There was “getting dressed”, and then there was getting dressed. Greta had definitely opted for the second option. She was wearing this figure fitted, red dress with off the shoulder sleeves. The dress ended just above her knees, but for some reason, it was her shoulders that really caught my attention this morning. The shawl she was wearing to shield her arms from the cold, had slid down slightly, leaving her shoulders exposed. She looked good. She looked better than good. 

“You look beautiful,” I told her as my gaze flickered from her shoulders and up to her perfectly coiffed hair.

“Thank you, sweetheart. I just wish...” she didn’t finish the sentence. Instead her fingers did the talking as she fiddled a little with the tube resting lightly on her cheeks. 

I rose from my kneeling position by the fireplace. Standing up, I was almost in eye level with her. I would have been if she wasn’t wearing high heels. I put my hands on her hips to draw her closer. 

“We like the tube,” I gently reminded her. “And we love your ability to breathe.” 

She let out an amused little sound at that. Now her hands wandered to my hips. “Well, the only thing making me breathless this morning is you, mademoiselle Welles,” she quipped. Her fingers closed around the hem of my long t-shirt, and she slowly rucked the fabric up, so she could rest her hands on my bare hips. “Is that what you are going to wear today? Because I approve,” she chuckled, and her voice reached that particular level of smokiness that never failed to make me weak in the knees. 

“I’m barely wearing anything,” I stated innocently and played along. 

“Exactement“ Greta said and flashed me a rather delighted smile. 

“Who knew you had such a fondness for having me walking around half naked?” 

She shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I? As I’ve told you countless times, you have a beautiful body.” 

I immediatly forgot all thought of teasing and blushed ferociously. Nobody could drop a nochalant compliment like Greta. 

“But I also have a fondness for having you walking around dressed,” Greta continued as she tugged my shirt down where it belonged. “I think I just have a fondness for having you around. Plain and   
simple.” 

I smiled in a way that made me concerned my cheeks would split. 

“Are you terribly keen on going out in this weather?” Greta asked and swiftly changed the subject

Translation: “I feel too tired to go out today, but if you want to go out, I’ll pretend I want to as well.” It hadn’t taken me long to decipher when Greta was pretending to have more strength that she actually had. 

“No,” I smiled. “I’m good with staying inside today. It’s pretty cold outside.” 

She visibly relaxed at that. “Then perhaps you would like to watch a movie with me?” 

“Yeah. I’d like that. Which one?” 

Greta went over to the shelf and quickly found one of the many, many DVD’s. “Of course, you’ve already watched this one, haven’t you?” 

“I have,” I said and chuckled. Mostly because I could hear Michelle complain. I had put her through “It’s a Wonderful Life” more times than I could remember. 

Greta switched the movie on, and I snuggled closer to her on the couch. I didn’t bother with clothing right now. Thanks to the flickering flames in the fireplace, the cabin was heating up nicely. 

“How did you spend Christmas last year?” I asked when we were almost halfway through the movie. 

“I spent it in the hospital,” Greta replied. “My grandfather’s health had started deteriorating. I was back in Seattle on holiday. We were supposed to spend Christmas in his houseboat, but...” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” she said lightly. “It was actually a very nice Christmas. Very special.” 

“I can imagine.” 

She flashed me a little smile, and I wondered how things would have played out if I had run into Greta at that point. What if there had been no accident? What if we had simply met each other? Would I had felt the same? Would she? 

I didn’t know the answer. I didn’t want to think that the accident was tying us together, but......

“You are good at multitasking, non?” Greta asked rather suddenly and interrupted my train of thoughts. 

“Uhh... Kinda. Yeah. Why?” 

She gracefully reached across me and grabbed my laptop, carefully placing it on my thighs. “You have a story to write, mon petit auteur.” 

I laughed as I switched the laptop on. “Yeah, I suppose I do.”

“Though I wish you would find someone else to write about,” Greta commented with mild disdain in her voice. 

“Not gonna happen,” I said and flashed her a little smile. “You are the most interesting person I’ve ever met.” 

“I’m afraid you are easily impressed, sweetpea.” 

“No, I’m not,” I brushed her off. 

She scoffed a little but didn’t delve further into it. “Write,” she gently ordered. “I like listening to it. It’s very soothing.” 

I did as she asked. I had never written as much as I had during the month up here in the mountains. Greta was right. It was a very inspirational place. The words were literally pouring out of me. 

But I knew it wasn’t just the amazing landscape that inspired me and prompted me to write. It was Greta. And it was the feeling of being at peace. I had never tried that before. I had never felt as calm and serene as I had with Greta. The place didn’t even matter. We could be on the north pole for all I cared. As long as she was there. 

We didn’t do much that day, and I didn’t mind at all. This was without a doubt the best Christmas I had ever had. 

I wrote, and Greta watched the movie. She heavily implied that this should be the next movie I reviewed on my blog, and I found that that was a pretty good idea. 

As the movie came to an end, we ate lunch. Greta wasn’t very hungry, her appetite was often lacking, but I managed to persuade her to eat at least a little bit. She couldn’t lose weight. The doctor had said that the last time we were at the hospital. She had to keep eating, no matter how poor her appetite was. 

Apart from the visits to the hospital, Greta wasn’t too keen on talking about her illness. The first time she went to the hospital after I had arrived in Switzerland, she had more or less ordered me to wait in the car. The first time I had done as she asked, but the second time, I had firmly told her that I was going with her. Doctor’s appointments were a part of her life. She couldn’t keep that part secluded. Her walls had been up, and she had tried valiantly to make me drop it, but I hadn’t budged. Then she had claimed that I was “the most stubborn girl she had ever come across”. I had agreed with her, and then she had accepted that I was going with her to the doctor. 

Afterwards, when we got back, she admitted that it was nice to have someone with her at the hospital. 

I had told her, that that was what I was there for, and then we hadn’t discussed it further. 

After watching one movie, we quickly ended up watching one more. Another classic. “Miracle on 34th Street.” 

I wrote as Greta snoozed, though firmly denying that she was. Not that I minded. She could sleep as much as she damn well pleased. 

The sky was darkening rapidly now, and the only light was the snowing glittering outside. I was just about to switch a bit more light on when my phone started chiming. 

Greta immediately lifted her head.

“It’s my mom,” I told her as I grabbed the phone from the coffee table. 

“Ah,” she nodded. “Tell her... Tell her merry Christmas.” 

“I will,” I nodded and swiped over the screen to answer. “Hello?” 

“Hello, Celine,” my mothers voice came in the other end. “Am I... Is this inconvenient for you?” 

“No, not at all,” I assured. “We’re not doing much. What about you? What are you doing?” 

“I’ve just finished my shift at the hospital,” she said. 

“So, still early hours,” I observed. She still hadn’t gone back to work fulltime. 

“Yes, still early hours,” she repeated. “How are you doing? I hope the weather isn’t too rough. I checked the forecast for Verbier, and there’s quite a lot of snow there right now, isn’t there?” 

“There is,” I confirmed and smiled. She was still keeping taps on the weather up here. “It only just stopped snowing like two seconds ago.” 

“Do you have any plans for today?” she asked. Her voice was light. Interested. 

“No, none at all. We’re just... celebrating Christmas quietly,” I told her. It felt a little strange, to be away on Christmas. I hadn’t tried that before. 

“I bet it isn’t snowing in Seattle,” I continued. 

She laughed. “No, it is not. It’s grey and cold, but no snow.” 

“Same as usual then.” I observed. 

She hummed a little in agreement. 

We talked for a while, and both of us were sure to keep the subjects light. Even if this was the best communication I’d ever had with my mother, our connection was still fragile. Both of us were acutely aware of that, and we both did our utmost to make sure the conversation stayed light and easy and not guarded. I asked her a little about her work, but for the first time in my life, she didn’t give me a long speech about it. She more brushed it off and turned the attention back to me. Asked me about how I found Switzerland, the weather, how I was doing. She even asked about my writing. For the first time she was asking about my writing. I was surprised, but more than happy to answer her. I told her that I was currently writing about real events, and that I was very happy with how it was turning out so far. 

“I’m happy to hear that,” she said. 

I was flabbergasted but managed a “thank you”. 

Our conversation was coming to a natural ending, and I was just about to say goodbye to her, but before I got the chance to actually do so, she said: 

“Actually, would it be possible for me to speak to Greta?” 

My jaw dropped. She wants to talk to Greta? Why? What does she want to talk to her about? My first, imminent reaction was suspicion. It didn’t make sense that my mother wanted to speak to Greta. Unless   
it was because she wanted to say things that were less than nice to her. 

“Why would you-“ 

“I just want to talk to her, Celine,” my mother said quickly. The words were rushed, as though she was trying to convince me that she didn’t have bad intentions. “I have... I have a suggestion for her,” she continued. “A proposition, if you will.” 

I felt tempted to ask what sort of proposition. In my mind, I could almost imagine my mother trying to offer Greta money to stay away from me or something like that. Or threatening her in some way. 

“It will only take a moment,” my mother said in the other end. “I would have called her on her own cellphone, but I couldn’t find her number anywhere, so...” 

“Her phone is disconnected,” I explained. “Alright. You can talk to her.” 

“Thank you.” 

I moved the phone away from my ear and made sure to cover the microphone as I said: “my mother want to talk to you.” 

Greta had kept quiet during my conversation with my mother, but now she cocked her head to the side and said disbelievingly: “your mother wants to speak to me?” 

“Yeah. Apparently. She mentioned some kind of proposition....” 

“What does that mean?” Greta wondered out loud. 

“No idea.” 

“Hmm,” Greta said and pursed her lips slightly as she outstretched her hand. “Let me talk to her then. This should be interesting.” 

“You don’t have to talk to her.” 

Greta chuckled amusedly. “Give me the phone, Céline, and let me talk to your mother.” 

“Alright...” I felt every bit reluctant as I handed her the phone. I was afraid that my mother was gonna say all sorts of outrageous things to Greta. 

Greta cleared her throat and then brought the phone up to her ear: “Good morning, Mrs. Welles. This is Greta.” 

I shook my head in pure disbelief. Seriously, how did she manage to be so polite to someone who had called her all sorts of things? 

I waited anxiously as they spoke. My mother wasn’t shouting accusations, that much was obvious, but apart from that, I couldn’t make much out of it. Greta didn’t say anything. She was just listening as my mother spoke. Her eyebrows knitted together. 

After something that felt like a small eternity, Greta said: “I don’t know what to say.” She looked surprised. Shocked, even. Her eyebrows were still knitted together, and her forehead slightly wrinkled. 

What’s going on? What is this about? 

My own eyebrows knitted together in confusion, and unable to contain my curiosity, I mouthed a “what?” to Greta. 

But Greta proved to be extremely unhelpful. Her part of the conversation mostly consisted of yes “aha”, “yes”, “no” and “I see”. 

Not helpful at all. What were they talking about? What had made Greta make that uncharacteristic “I don’t know what to say”-comment? Greta always knew what to say.

Not knowing was agonizing. If my mother didn’t ask to talk to Greta so she could throw accusations at her, what could this possibly be about? What did they have to talk about? 

My foot started tapping up and down in pure anxiety. It had been a long time since it last had done that. Greta flashed me a warning look and put a soft hand on my foot to still it. 

I took the hint and kept my foot still, but I was still going crazy. What are they talking about? 

It felt like I had waited forever when Greta finally concluded the conversation with a: “Yes. Yes. Goodbye, Mrs. Welles.” 

Then she swiped to end the call and handed the phone back to me. 

“What was that about? What did she want? What did she say? Did she-“

“Slow down, Céline,” Greta laughed and interrupted my frantic rambling. “Breathe.” 

I drew in a breath. “Right. I’m breathing. What did she say?” 

Greta reached up and adjusted her hair slightly. Crossed her ankles elegantly as she wiggled to sit a little better in the couch. Then she spoke: “she and her colleagues has been looking into my medical   
history, and they have decided to offer me a full transfer to the hospital.” 

I stared at her. I probably looked like a not very intelligent fish. “You’re kidding me?” 

“No,” Greta said. “I was offered a meeting with their transplant team, regular checkups at the hospital. I would be monitored closely. And furthermore, your mother has offered to be available at all times. In case my health status changes one way or the other.” 

I clapped a hand over my mouth. “She said that?” 

“She did.” 

I tried to swallow the massive lump in my throat. “I can’t believe she would do that for you.” 

Greta laughed. “Oh, ma jolie, I doubt this has anything to do with me. No, this is about her wanting her daughter back. But I would lie if I said that it wouldn’t be reassuring to be closely connected to a hospital at all times. And no matter what else one could say about her; your mother is a highly skilled doctor.” 

“That she is.” 

“Of course this means that we would have to go back to Seattle,” Greta continued and played with a lock of her hair. 

“Yeah,” I said. “I like this place, but if going back means that you’ll be watched closely by the hospital, I have zero protests with it.” 

Greta reached out and squeezed my ankle. “It would appear that we’re going home then. It’s a good thing I didn’t put the houseboat up for sale.” 

“Mmm, as amazing as this place is, I still prefer your houseboat,” I hummed. 

“But perhaps an apartment would be nice. Eventually.” Greta mused. 

“One that’s big enough for two,” I added. 

Greta raised an eyebrow as she muttered something about putting down roots. 

I leaned forward and peeled her hand away from my ankle. Squeezing her hand slightly, I said: “so, we’re going back to Seattle?” 

“Yes, it would appear so,” she nodded. 

I squeezed her hand again. I could handle a trip back to Seattle. 

“I didn’t anticipate this,” Greta said plainly. 

“No, neither did I.” 

“But I’m pleased about this development,” she continued, and her expression was soft as she looked at me. “I never wanted to come between you and your mother, Céline.” 

“You didn’t. This conflict between us has been coming for years. If anything, you gave me the courage to stand up to her.” 

“But she is still your mother,” Greta quietly observed. 

“Yeah. And lately she’s been doing a much better job at showing it.” 

“Going back to Seattle is a good thing,” Greta said, and now it sounded like she was musing out loud again. “It is so much easier to mend a relationship when you aren’t countries apart.” 

“You are right about that,” I said quietly. “Hence why I followed you to Geneva.” 

“Something I’ll always be grateful for,” she said softly. 

I gave her knuckles a light kiss.


	52. Chapter Fifty Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It says in the description that this is the last chapter. This is not the case. An epilogue will be posted tomorrow.

Greta and I left Verbier the day before New Year’s Eve. There was nothing to think about, really. The choice was staying in a remote cabin and settling for the monthly hospital visit or going back to Seattle and being closely monitored by an entire transplant team and a highly educated doctor. 

It wasn’t a choice. 

I called my mother as soon as our plane tickets were booked and informed her that we would be returning to Seattle. Her voice went completely soft when I told her. Afterwards, I called Hannah and Michelle and told them the same. They were equally pleased. Michelle screeched so loud Greta heard it. And laughed about it. 

The weather was cold and windy when we left for the airport. Once again, I was the one behind the wheel, and I felt completely safe. Greta was sitting right next to me in the passenger seat, smiling reassuringly. 

There was absolutely nothing to be afraid of. 

 

We boarded the plane together, and Greta squeezed my hand discreetly as we took off. I leaned back and closed my eyes. This time, flying didn’t feel so bad. I kept thinking of what Greta had said to be that day in front of the fireplace. Where ever I go next, you’re coming with me. 

In its own, backward way, her statement now came true. We were going back to Seattle. Both of us. We were going home. 

“I’d like to take another journey with you one day. A more traditional one,” Greta said as she looked out at the clouds passing.

“That sounds nice.” 

“Perhaps we could go to Paris one day,” she continued musingly. “Every writer must visit Paris at some point.” 

I chuckled as I touched the bracelet secured around my wrist. “I’d like that. But for now, Seattle is cool too.” 

She shook her head. “No, no, no. Don’t you dare settling, miss Welles. You need to see the world.” 

“I will,” I assured her. “With you. Everything else would be-“ 

“Voir le monde sans vous serait un voyage gâché,“ she quietly interrupted. 

I frowned. “What does that mean?” 

“I’ll tell you the day we arrive in Paris,” Greta teased. 

“I’m pretty sure that’s not fair,” I complained. 

“Shush, there’s plenty of time for you to learn French, if that’s what you desire.” 

“Or you could just tell me right now?” 

Greta laughed and squeezed my fingers again. “And what would be the fun in that, miss Welles?” 

I sighed deeply, but never the less squeezed back. 

Even though it had only been a month since I left Seattle, it still felt strange being back. So much had happened during the time I was away. I wasn’t the same Celine who had left to get my answers. As silly as it sounded, I felt older. Maybe even a little wiser. 

 

Once we had gotten our luggage, Greta hailed a cab that would bring us back to Lake Union. I had every intention of going with her, but as we sat in the backseat and looked out on Seattle, Greta said: “I think you should go back to your mothers place.” 

I immediately opened my mouth to protest. 

“Just to let her know you are home,” Greta said before I could argue. “Talk to her a little.” 

I mulled over that for a moment before nodding. “I suppose I could do that.” 

“Good. Then we can meet at my place afterwards. You can help me unpack my books.” 

I laughed. “That sounds good.” 

So, she re-directed the cab to Queen Anne, and once it stopped outside my childhood home, I opened the door and dragged my duffel bag out with me. 

“See you very soon,” Greta said and rolled the window down. 

“Yeah. Count on that.” 

She chuckled and gave my hand a soft squeeze. Then we parted ways and the cab disappeared behind a corner. 

I slung the duffel bag over my shoulder. The gravel crunched under my boots as I walked up the pathway to my house. There had been a time where I had sworn that I would never go back here again,   
and here I was, going back again. I wasn’t filled with anger anymore. My mother was going to help Greta. Of course, it wasn’t completely enough to erase every single bad thing that had happened between me and my mother, but it was more than a start. God knows what strings my mother had pulled in order to be able to offer Greta a transfer. It was hard not to be grateful. 

She did this for Greta. She did this for us. I still had trouble with believing it. 

The door was unlocked and creaked slightly as I opened it. I was half expecting my mother to greet me by the door, but the hall was empty when I stepped inside. 

She was home though. Otherwise the door wouldn’t have been unlocked. 

The staircase creaked as well as I went upstairs. I don’t know why, but I just knew she would be in my old room, and I was exactly right. My mother was indeed sitting on my bed. She was looking through an old photo album, and each and every picture were of me. 

My duffel bag landed on the floor with a soft thud. My mother looked up. I looked at her. This was not the highly professional dr. Maura Welles. This was someone who was vulnerable. 

“Hey,” I said a bit tamely. 

“Celine,” she said. “You are home.” 

“I am,” I confirmed. 

She rose from the bed. “And where is... Greta?” 

“She went back to her place. She had some unpacking to do.” 

“I see.” She measured me from head to toe. “You look well.” 

She didn’t, I noted. She looked tired and worn out. Was she sick? I felt a little pang of concern. 

“Are you... okay?” I asked hesitantly. 

She nodded. “I’ve been cutting down on my hours at the hospital.” 

That wasn’t what I meant, and we both knew that, but I didn’t delve further into it. Instead I cleared my throat and said: “what you’re doing for Greta... That’s really...” I ran out of words. 

“I’ve been giving my job my unbridled attention for as long as I can remember,” she said. “I’ve been concentrating on becoming the best doctor I could possibly be. Helping people who have been injured is what I do. In many ways, this is no different, even if Greta’s case is a bit.... unusual. But with her medical history, she’s the perfect candidate for a full transfer.”

“I... Thank you,” I muttered. 

She brushed a hand over her skirt. “My job has been my life for most of my adulthood. First studying, and then working as a doctor. Creating a name for myself was the most important thing for me.” 

“You’ve succeeded,” I said. Everybody with a knowledge of medicine new the name Maura Welles. 

There was a moment of silence between us, my mother shifted her weight slightly. Then she shook her head. “But all this time, I’ve been so focused on making myself better at my job, everything else became second priority. Including remembering the most important job I’ve ever been given. Which is being your mother.” 

Her words hit me like a sucker punch, and my throat felt sticky as I tried to swallow. 

She lifted her hand slowly. Hesitated before putting it on my shoulder. “I couldn’t see that my greatest accomplishment was already right in front of me.” 

“Mom...” I whispered. God, when was the last time I actually called her that? It was always “mother”. Never “mom”. 

The hand on my shoulder trembled slightly. “I want...” her voice broke and she cleared her throat. “I want things to change between us, Celine. I want us to get along. I want...” her voice failed her again, and she cleared her throat once more. “I want to make myself better at being your mother.” 

“You’re...” I had to clear my throat as well. “You’re off to a pretty good start.” 

She smiled a little. “Maybe we could... Start a fresh?”

“I’d like that,” I said and returned her smile. 

There was another moment of silence between us. Mom moved her hand from my shoulder and fiddled with her fingers instead. 

I looked at her. She looked so... changed. She wasn’t the woman I remembered. 

“I’ve been seeing a therapist,” she said, and it sounded more like an admittance than a statement. 

“Okay,” I said and tried to hide my surprise. That was about the last thing I had expected. “And is that... okay?” 

Mom nodded. “Yes, she’s actually very good. Very professional. And very good at getting to the bottom of things.” 

“That’s.... Good.” I said. I still couldn’t believe what I was hearing. 

“I don’t expect you to move in again, Celine,” mom said. “But I would like us to...” 

“I want that too,” I said before she could finish the sentence. 

“You are my daughter,” she said. “My only child. And nothing... Nothing is more important than you. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize. I’ve made.... I’ve made so many mistakes, but none of them   
have been you. Not ever.” 

I felt dizzy. I could barely comprehend what I was hearing. The way she was talking. So openly. So honestly. It was like a dream. 

“I forgive you,” I said quietly. 

But she shook her head. “No. I don’t want you to forgive this right away, Celine. I want to earn it. I want to make myself better at being your mother.” 

“Mom...” 

“I want to pay less attention to my job and pay far more attention to my most important job,” she said and reached within her pocket. “And I’d like to start by giving you this. A late Christmas present.” 

I reached out and accepted the envelope she held out towards me. The only sound in the room was the faint tearing sound as I ripped the envelope open. 

Two brochures fell out of the envelope. It didn’t take me long to recognize the seal on both of them. The brochures came from Seattle University. I frowned a little. 

As I opened the first brochure, it quickly began to dawn on me what this was about. Film studies at Seattle University. And, opening the second brochure: Creative Writing at Seattle University. 

“And then there’s this one,” mom added and handed me a third brochure. A smaller one. 

“Hugo House. A place for writers,” I read aloud. 

“It’s their summer program,” mom said. “And as for university, maybe it’s something to consider? Maybe in a year?” 

“Maybe,” I smiled. My mind was already spinning. Going to university. Studying English and Creative Writing. Studying the craft I loved most. Really learning to write. Maybe even getting a bachelor... 

She put her hand on my shoulder again. “I thought that getting you into medical school was the answer to everything. I thought, as long as you became successful, nothing else mattered. I was so focused on making sure you were following in my footsteps. I wanted you to strive. To be the next doctor Welles. But what I really want.... Is for you to be happy. It doesn’t matter what you.... It doesn’t matter what you chose to study.” 

There was that lump in my throat again. “Thank you, mom.” I whispered. “That really.... means a lot.” 

She smiled a little. Nervous. Fragile. “The therapist suggested that maybe... You and I both could see her. Together. If you want. I think it could be very good for us.” 

“I think so too,” I smiled. “I’d like that.”

“Maybe we could schedule an appointment sometime in January?” she suggested. 

“That would be good.” I couldn’t think of a better suggestion. I had a feeling that seeing a therapist with my mother and really get a chance to talk everything through was one of the best ideas my mother had ever gotten. I could sense something. A fragile bond between us. A whisper of how a real mother-daughter relationship should be. And by all the gods, I wanted to strengthen that relationship. More than anything. 

“So.... We’re starting a fresh, you and I?” mom said nervously, and once again I saw a version of her, she had kept hidden. A softer, more vulnerable side of her. A side I could imagine getting a close bond with in the future. 

“Starting a fresh sounds good,” I smiled as I reached up and put my hand over hers. 

“I don’t want to lose you, Celine,” she said, and her voice was dripping with honesty. “When you left to follow Greta to Switzerland... I panicked. I realized that my attempts at being the best mother possible, was what drove you away.” She gently moved her hand from my shoulder, and her eyes were brimming with unshed tears as she moved the hand up to my cheek instead. “I will never make the decisions for you again, Celine. Of course you have your own hopes and dreams, and from now on.... I will encourage you to follow them instead of discouraging you.” 

“Thank you, mom,” I croaked. As opposed to her, my tears were flowing freely. 

When was the last time I had given my mother a hug? When was the last time she had accepted one? I couldn’t remember. But right now, a hug was the only option. The only thing we could do. 

It wasn’t one of these big movie moments where everything is magically solved because of that one hug, but it was a start. The beginning of a new era. The start of a new and healthier relationship between me and my mom. 

Things will only get better from now on, I thought to myself as mom and I parted. I was optimistic. Talking to a therapist together was a very good idea. We could get through this. I was sure of that. 

After a moment, I told her that I would be going over to Greta’s place. I had promised her to help her unpack some boxes, so.... 

Mom nodded. She didn’t even grimace. “Will you ask her to call me? There is a few details regarding her transfer to the hospital we need to go over one last time.” 

“Of course,” I said. 

“Will I see you soon?” she asked hopeful.

“Yeah,” I smiled. “Maybe we could go out and have coffee?” 

“I would like that,” mom said and returned my smile. 

One day at the time. Slowly and steadily, mom and I would get there. I was sure of that. I felt completely light when I said goodbye to her and left the house. She offered me a lift to Greta’s place, but I smilingly declined and told her I would drive myself. She looked proud at that. 

My mind was still spinning with everything that had happened as I got into the car and started the journey to Greta’s place. This was without a doubt the best conversation I had ever had with my mother, and I would probably need a few days to wrap my head completely around the change that had happened with her. She was really trying to change, and I couldn’t wait to experience the rest of the transformation. The transformation that would turn “dr. Maura Welles” into “mom”. 

I glanced at the brochures she had given me. Now there was something to consider. New Year’s Eve was only a few days away, and where this year had been the craziest one in my life, I was determined to make next year quieter. I was gonna take a gap year. A year where I gave myself the chance to wind down. I would find some work to “put food on the table” and make sure I didn’t end up spending my days watching movies. But apart from that, I would dedicate next year to winding down and finding myself. I needed that. 

I couldn’t help but smile as I rounded a corner. For a while, I had only thought of two things: getting away from Seattle and finding Greta. I had done both things. And now we were both back in Seattle. 

My mother and I were beginning to finally understand each other, and thanks to whatever strings my mother had pulled, Greta’s health would be monitored closely by the hospital. My mother would literally only be a phone call away in case something happened, and Greta was right, my mother was a very good doctor. 

 

My smile widened as I parked the car and walked the short distance to Greta’s houseboat. The place looked exactly the same. And, I noted as I grinned like an idiot, the plant pot with the red flowers were back. 

I hopped aboard and knocked once on the door.

“Come in,” came Greta’s voice. 

I quickly opened the door and went inside. 

“There you are,” Greta said and looked up. She was currently hunched over a pile of books. “I could use some help with putting these back where they belong.” 

“Sure,” I said briskly and grabbed a little stack of books. I effectively began putting them back on the book shelve. “My mom told me to ask you to call her. There was a few details about the transfer...” 

“I’ll do that,” Greta said. “Or perhaps I’ll simply schedule a meeting with her. It’s easier, and my phone happens to be-“ 

“Disconnected,” I muttered and nodded. “Yeah. I know.” 

“I’ll get it back up and running again,” Greta promised. 

“It would be nice to be able to get a hold of you,” I commented as I stuffed a few more books into the shelve. 

Greta hummed in agreement. “And what else did your mother have to say?” 

“A lot, actually,” I said and then I gave her a full resume of my conversation with my mother. How she had started to see a therapist. How we both were gonna see the therapist. The three brochures she   
had given me. How we were starting a fresh. 

“So we’re basically just starting from scratch,” I said and crouched down to grab more books. 

“That sounds like a very wise plan,” Greta said. “And have you thought about university?” 

“Yeah, I have,” I nodded. “But it’s not gonna be right now. I’m gonna take a gap year and work. I need a year without studies.” 

“Quite the considerate plan you have for yourself, miss Welles,” she teased. “And where are you gonna live? With your mother?” 

“Nope,” I said and abandoned the books for a moment. “I’m not gonna move back home again. I’m sure mom would love it, and I’m sure it would be different, but... I’d rather be here. With you.” 

“This place is a little cramped,” Greta said. “There wouldn’t be much leg room for two.” 

“I don’t care. This is where I want to be,” I said. 

“You are impossible, miss Welles.” 

“I’ll never stop hassling you,” I teased. 

“No, I suppose you won’t.”

 

And so, it suddenly became New Years eve. The last night of the year 2018.

Yesterday, Greta had met up with my mother at the hospital, and together they had gone over the last few details regarding the transfer. I hadn’t been with her while she went to the hospital. Michelle had demanded to see me and get a “full resume of everything”, and turning her down wasn’t an option. Both of my friends more than deserved a full resume. 

Greta had highly encouraged me to meet up with my friends, so I had gone. I had told Hannah and Michelle everything. Everything my mother had said. How she had stepped in and pulled strings that made her able to offer Greta a transfer to the hospital. 

Hannah and Michelle were just as impressed as I was, and I was brimming with happiness when I told them about how my mother was finally starting to come around and realize that her way not always was the right way. 

As soon as I got back, I had asked Greta how her “meeting” with my mother had went. Greta had quipped and said that she hadn’t met my mother. She had met the highly professional and focused Dr. Welles. Meaning that my mother had been focusing on being Greta’s doctor and nothing more. They had sorted out the last few minor details, and Greta’s official transfer to the hospital was finalized. No other questions asked. 

There was hope. Sometime in the new year, mom and I would schedule an appointment with her therapist. We were slowly moving towards something better, and I couldn’t be happier about it.

And I couldn’t be happier about where I was right now. Sitting on Greta’s red velvet couch and waiting for the clock to strike midnight. 

“Here you go, sweetpea,” Greta said as she handed me a glass of champagne. 

“Champagne?” I said and raised an eyebrow. 

“Yes, let’s not make a habit out of it,” she said and frowned a little. “But since it is New Year’s Eve, I thought it was appropriate. As long as it’s only one glass.” 

“Very appropriate,” I said and chuckled. “And don’t worry. I’m not planning on getting drunk.” 

“I hope not,” Greta said. “I’ve seen you drunk. It’s not a pretty sight.” 

“Hey!” I protested. “I was not that bad.” 

She raised an eyebrow. 

“Okay, maybe I was,” I deflated and ducked my head a little. 

She laughed fruitily. “I’ll certainly never forget it.” 

“At least I made an impression then.” 

“Oh, believe me, ma jolie, you made an impression long before,” Greta said as she poured herself a glass of champagne. 

“Yeah?” I laughed. 

“Definitely. And you look rather exquisite tonight,” she said as she sat down next to me and elegantly crossed her legs. “That is a very good color on you.” 

“Thanks,” I said. “But I should probably have done something with my hair.” 

“No, you shouldn’t. I like your hair just the way it is,” Greta said firmly and brushed a curly lock behind my ear. 

“Do you remember this dress?” I asked and brushed a hand over the aquamarine dress I had chosen to wear tonight. 

“Yes, I do,” Greta said. “And you look as beautiful as you did when I saw you in it the first time.” 

I laughed and shook my head a little. Many things had changed since Greta first saw me in that dress. Many things had changed since I showed up at hotel Ballard. My intention back then had been to “tell her a thing or two”. 

I got a lot more than I bargained for. I ended up falling in love with the most beautiful, most enticing, most complicated woman I had ever met. And that hadn’t been a walk in the park. We had parted ways many, many, many times, and had come back to each other just as many. 

I had learned that our fates were connected in a way I not in my wildest dreams could have imagined. Fates design, or a simple question of time and place? I still wasn’t sure. 

But I knew one thing. The accident wasn’t my fault. It never had been. It had simply happened. Two cars, heading in opposite directions, two lives changed. 

A chance encounter in a filthy bar. A simple “sorry I’m late, sweetpea”, and Greta’s silent order to play along. 

How was I supposed to know that that one encounter was the start of the craziest year in my life? 

A random meeting. A pretend kiss on the cheek, events put into motion. Already then, I had felt drawn to Greta. I had just been too stubborn to acknowledge it. 

All the times we had run into each other by chance afterwards. All the times I had thought of her as something forbidden. Someone I absolutely could not have. All our secret meetings. All the times she had asked me not to come back. I had come back anyway. Every single time. 

I looked around in the houseboat. I remembered coming here after our “date” at the Ferris wheel and seeing the place packed down. The calm way she had announced that she was leaving. Myself telling her that I loved her. Her disbelief. Our last night at hotel Ballard. The way she had left in the middle of the night. The letter. A month’s despair. How I had followed her to Switzerland. 

I shook my head. I still found it hard to believe that this was where we had ended up. After everything that had happened, it almost seemed impossible. 

A soft hand on my knee brought me out of my musings. “What are you thinking about?” Greta asked gently. 

“I’m thinking that-“ 

The faint sound of yelling interrupted me, and the next second the sky lit up in red, blue and golden colors, and my voice was easily drowned by the sound of fireworks. 

Greta smiled. “Happy New Year, ma jolie.” She raised her glass of champagne. 

“Happy New Year,” I said. And quickly added an: “I love you.” For good measurement. 

Greta rolled her eyes a little as our glass clinked together. “Je t'aime aussi, ma jolie.“ I smiled widely.

My phone started chiming as the “happy New Year” messages started pouring in. 

I ignored every single one of them. Later, I would answer them. Later, I would call my mom and wish her happy new year, but for right now... 

I sat the glass of champagne down on the coffee table. Then I snatched Greta’s champagne glass and did the same. 

She raised an eyebrow at the way her glass was rudely plucked out of her hand, but I completely ignored that and grinned as I easily shifted and re-positioned myself in her lap. 

Greta scoffed a little at that. “What on earth do you think you’re doing, Céline?” but her voice wasn’t particularly harsh, and the hands landing on my hips were soft. 

“Happy New Year,” I said again and cupped her cheek. 

“Happy New Year,” she smiled. Her fingers slid up and started threading through my hair. 

I smiled back. Maybe I was even giggling a little as I leaned in and slotted our lips together in a kiss. I was with her. There had been a time where I had no idea what I wanted, and now I had somehow found it. I had gained something I didn’t even know I wanted. 

I chuckled as Greta suddenly flipped us, so I was lying on my back on the couch and she was above me. We were clearly starting the new year in the best way possibly. 

My dress were riding up, and Greta’s silk blouse wasn’t as neat as it was a moment ago. In fact it was riding up as well. I couldn’t resist to tease just a little as I wiggled my hand inside her blouse and ventured down. 

“Céline,” she warned huskily above me, and a stray curl bounced around her face. 

But I just ignored it. The warmth radiated off her skin, and I could feel her heart beat steadily against my palm. 

I smiled up at her before lifting my head and kissing her. Maybe I was imagining it, but it felt like her heart was beating faster at that. I chuckled a little as she gasped into the kiss. Maybe I wasn’t imagining it after all. Maybe her heart was beating faster. 

Breathless for all the right reasons.

Somehow, I had done it. I had melted the ice. I had peeled off the façade she had set up. I had broken down her walls and finally found the way. 

The way to her heart.


	53. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, I'd like to firmly state that I am not a doctor. I don't have much medical knowledge, and that will probably be reflected in this chapter.
> 
> Secondly, I would like to say thank you to everyone who left comments and kudo's. I'm so glad I was able to take you on this journey with me.

Epilogue

 

\- October 2020

 

“Have a good weekend, Celine!”

“See you, Kyle,” I said and flashed him a little smile as I slipped my laptop into my bag. Todays late afternoon class was done, and now I just wanted to go home. 

I said goodbye to the rest of my friends and then left the building. 

Making it out on the parking lot, I fumbled with my car keys for a second, and then I hopped into my car. I dumped the bag with my computer and the few books I had needed for todays lesson on the passenger seat, and then I switched the engine on.

Despite the drive back to my home only took about five minutes, I still switched the radio on. My head was buzzing slightly from everything I had learned today, and I could need a second to think of something else. 

The radio crackled slightly, and I muttered a quiet complain under my breath. Maybe it was time to replace the radio in my little red car. 

 

“Love, love, love,   
Love, love, love,  
Love, love, love.  
There's nothing you can do that can't be done,  
Nothing you can sing that can't be sung,  
Nothing you can say, but you can learn how to play the game,  
It's easy   
Nothing you can make that can't be made,  
No one you can save that can't be saved, nothing you can do,   
but you can learn how to be you in time  
It's easy...”

I chuckled a little. So the radio was still working after all. One last hurrah, maybe. 

“All you need is love,   
all you need is love,  
All you need is love, love, love is all you need,  
All you need is love,  
All you need is love, love, love is all you need.”

 

I tunelessly hummed along to the familiar melody. The Beatles was definitely doing a much better job than I, but I didn’t care. I needed to think of something else for a second. It was a month since I had started at the University, and it was still a bit of an adjustment. My life was suddenly filled with classes and books once more, and at first it had been pretty tough, to find myself back on the school bench, after a year where my life had consisted of only working and writing. 

But I was beginning to adjust to the change and going to University was not bad in any way. I was finally studying what I had been dreaming of studying since I was nine. English & Creative Writing. 

It was probably too early, but I was sure I could already see an improvement in my writing. Sometimes I was playing around with the idea of submitting one of my short stories. Just for fun. Just to see what would happen. 

I drove down Lakeview Boulevard, and after a few minutes, I reached my destination. 

I parked the little red car and couldn’t help but feel a little bit proud at my awesome parking skills. Then I hauled my bag out of the passenger seat and slung it over my shoulder as I walked the short distance to my destination. 

I elegantly “hopped aboard” my favorite floating home and noted that the red flower on the porch looked a bit unhappy. Why is it that none of us can remember to water that damn thing? 

If we didn’t start to pay better attention in the future, the red flower would wither completely, and that would be a shame. 

I opened the door. I didn’t have to fumble around with unlocking it. The door was never locked. 

I dumped my bag in the little hall and rubbed my arms slightly as I freed myself from my coat. The weather was definitely getting chillier. It was time to find a thicker coat. 

“Hello, I’m home,” I called and silently added an at last. Todays lecture had been kind of long. It was nice to be home again. 

I didn’t get an answer, and I hadn’t been expecting one either. I knew where to go to get an answer. 

I slipped my boots off and wiggled my feet a little. Then I went upstairs, careful to avoid the little soft spot on the staircase. I didn’t want to announce myself with a creak. I had another and better way of   
letting her know that I was home. 

Reaching the second floor, I tiptoed down the hallway and peered into the bedroom. The door wasn’t closed, so I didn’t have to worry about a potential creaking sound. 

I smiled a little as I slinked inside the bedroom. Greta looked so peaceful like this. All snuggled up under the covers and with her curly hair splayed out on the pillow. She “mm’ed” a little in her sleep.   
Shifted slightly. The covers slid down and revealed her red lace nightgown with the flimsy little straps. I loved that nightgown. She shifted again in her sleep. A long, smooth, creamy leg appeared from underneath the covers. That could almost have been enough to distract me if I hadn’t noticed that the tape, she wore to secure her nasal cannula whenever she was sleeping, was beginning to come loose. 

She would need to replace that tape. Or maybe I would. Maybe I could be sneaky like I had been a few nights ago and replace it while she slept. 

Once again, I found myself tiptoeing as I crossed the floor. Just standing in the door and watching her wasn’t enough. 

I effortlessly slipped into bed next to her like I had done so many times before. This was one good thing about the lesson ending a bit late. I got the opportunity to do this. Greta often took a nap in the afternoon. That had become a regular part of her routine. But that wasn’t all she did. I could see her laptop on the desk. She had clearly been working before she had to succumb to sleep. 

A few months back, when spring was slipping into summer, Greta had announced that she had some news to share with me. And those news consisted of her telling me, with a glint in her ice blue eyes that I “wouldn’t be the only one who was going back to school.” I had of course asked her what she meant by that, and that was when she had revealed that she had been looking into online classes. So-called “open universities”. She was seriously considering taking a master’s degree in psychology and follow the original plan she had when was younger and still in college. 

I had found that to be a brilliant idea, and I had more than encouraged her to do so. 

And by the end of July, Greta had applied for the online classes. She had gone back to school before I had, and we had joked a bit about it. 

But joking aside, I was so happy for her. She was doing what she really wanted to do. She was finally following her dream. And she could do it right here, from the bed. She followed classes online, and aside for a monthly lecture, she didn’t have to go anywhere to participate in classes. And she could stop whenever she felt tired.

So, whenever I headed over to University to study, she studied at home, and I was absolutely thrilled about it. Greta was so happy with what she was doing. 

Next to me, Greta stirred in that telltale manner she always did when she was about to wake up. I silently cursed myself. So much for being sneaky. 

“Mmm,” she muttered, and the next second, she opened her eyes and looked at me. 

“Hi,” I said a bit apologetic. “I was actually trying to be quiet.” 

Greta chuckled. “I think I’m used to having you creep into the bed by now, mon ange. It is in no way a problem. And I’ve already slept plenty.” She wiggled slightly and made a vague attempt at pushing herself up.

“No!” I immediately protested and grasped her wrist. “Stay here. I’ve just got here.” 

“And I’m sure you are hungry, non?” Greta said. 

“It can wait,” it brushed her off. “And why can’t you let me do the cooking for once?” 

She scoffed.

I shook my head. “You still don’t trust my abilities in the kitchen,” I mock complained. 

“You sat the stove on fire.” 

“That was one time!” I defended. 

Greta coughed dryly. “And I nearly had to call the fire department.” 

“You are exaggerating,” I said. “The only thing getting hurt was a dish towel.” 

“And what a nice dish towel that was,” Greta said sardonically. 

I scoffed. “It was an accident, for fucks sake!” 

“Language,” Greta admonished and hid a yawn behind her hand. 

“For fucks sake,” I repeated teasingly. 

A palm was lifted and immediately landed on my ass “Look who’s getting sassy,” Greta commented. “I might be tired, miss Welles, but rest assure, I’m never too tired to spank you.” 

I snickered. “I’m sure you’re not.”

Smack. Her palm landed on my ass for the second time. 

“Ow!” I complained and giggled softly. “That hurt!” but I didn’t mind. Not really. It had been revealed long ago that I liked this. 

“That’s what happens to bad girls, Céline,” Greta warned and lifted her hand threateningly a third time.

“Go ahead,” I encouraged and allowed myself to wink at her. “I’m not stopping you.”

Greta smirked as her palm landed on my backside for the third time. This time the blow was a bit harder than the two previous ones had been. I winced a little and did my utmost to ignore the way my   
body reacted to it and started murmuring about staying in bed a little longer. 

“There.” she drawled. “I’m sure that’ll teach you a lesson.” 

I laughed and then snuggled closer to her and smoothened the tape against her cheek. “There we go. It was slipping.” 

“So it was. I could feel it. Thank you,” Greta said, and this time she didn’t quite succeed in suffocating a yawn. 

“You’re welcome,” I said and wiggled my sock clad feet in between her ankles. 

She teased a bit and squeezed my feet with her ankles, and then she asked: “how was your class today?” 

“It was nice,” I said as I withdrew once leg and draped it over hers instead. “Kyle even wished me a good weekend.” 

“Kyle,” Greta echoed, and her ice blue eyes narrowed slightly. “Wasn’t he the one who so eloquently referred to me as a “sugar mama” once?” 

“He was,” I confirmed and cringed slightly at the memory. Greta had picked me up from class one afternoon, and there had immediately been rumors. “And I’m still a little sad you weren’t there to hear me   
give him an earful.” 

Greta laughed huskily. “Defending my honor, were you?” 

“Always,” I assured her. “And I actually think he was trying to make up for his past blunder.”

“Let’s hope so,” Greta said as she grasped my leg and pulled so my thigh was practically draped over her waist. “Sugar mama. I’ve been called many things, but never that.” 

“You are not a sugar mama,” I said firmly. “I’m pretty sure that term was made for women older than you. You’re only thirty six.” 

“Thank you, miss Twenty Years old, I’m perfectly aware of how old I am,” Greta said, and her nose wrinkled. 

I snickered. Greta might have issues with what she called her “progressing age”, but she didn’t look a day older to me. Thirty four, thirty five, thirty six. I couldn’t see any difference. And I had made sure to give her a proper celebration, even though she had told me she didn’t want one. I had completely disregarded her wishes. I had no problem with remembering how she had spent her thirty fourth birthday. Alone on a café with a book. And I had vowed that that was never to happen again, so on her thirty fifth birthday, I had invited her out for a change. We had had dinner in a very nice restaurant, and afterwards, once we had gotten back and the lights in the bedroom were dimmed, I had dedicated the night to “spoiling the birthday girl”. 

Greta had been wonderfully ruffled, and doe eyed the next morning. 

On her thirty sixth birthday, she had been a bit more tired, and we had stayed in. But that had been plenty nice too. We had watched old movies, and once she had fallen asleep on the couch, I had held her in my arms. 

Greta’s fingers strummed lightly over my thigh. “I should get out of bed, miss Welles.” 

“You should not,” I said. “And neither should I.”

“This is leading to nowhere,” Greta said plainly. 

I raised on my elbow. “Actually, it does. In a moment, I’m going to kiss you. That’s leading somewhere, isn’t it?” 

“Depends on which direction you chose,” Greta quipped. 

I snickered slightly as I leaned in and kissed her. Now who was being sassy? 

She immediately returned the kiss, and her soft hand came up to cup my cheek. 

 

The next morning neither of us were out of bed, and it was far, far too early to even think of getting out of bed when a phone started screeching. Loudly.

Both Greta and I groaned our complaints, and I scrabbled to switch the lights on. after a few seconds of fumbling, I finally managed to do so, and because of sleepy state, it took me another few seconds to realize that it was Greta’s phone screeching. 

“God, what a noise,” Greta complained as she sat up and scrabbled for her phone. She suffocated a yawn and then answered it: “hello? Yes, this is she.” 

I rubbed my eyes tiredly and tried to wake up properly as she talked to someone on the phone. My sleep hazed brain couldn’t really understand who was calling and what the conversation was about,   
because Greta mainly said “yes” and “no”, so given how unimportant the conversation appeared to be, my only wish was to go back to bed for a few more hours. 

“I see,” Greta said. “Yes. Of course. We’ll do that. Yes. Right away. Alright. Thank you for calling. Bye-bye.” 

She ended the call, and I immediately stopped forgot all thoughts about being sleepy when I saw the look in her eyes. 

“That was the hospital calling,” she said quietly, but still completely audible. 

“Okay? And?” I asked. My throat was as dry as sandpaper. 

She nodded a little. “It’s time.” 

It felt as though someone had unplugged my stomach. It’s time. I had heard that sentence about a million times during Greta’s examinations at the hospital. The hospital will call you when it’s time. 

And now.... 

Now it was time. The hospital had called. Which could only mean one thing. 

There was a heart for Greta. 

Now it felt like someone was squeezing my stomach instead. 

“We better get a move on,” I said as I quickly slipped out of bed and raced into the bathroom to get ready. 

My heart was hammering as I showered and got dressed in top speed, but I firmly ignored it. If I was nervous, Greta was probably feeling horrible. I had to be there for her in any way I could. I had to put   
my own anxiety aside for her. 

Greta was quiet as I gulped down a quick cup of coffee and a single slice of bread. She wasn’t allowed to eat or drink anything before the operation, and I was surprised that I was able to eat anything. But   
Greta had insisted that I ate something. 

She was quiet as we found the pre-packed bag and loaded it into her Mercedes as well, and I made no attempt of pulling her out of her silence. She was allowed to be quiet. But I did lift one hand from the wheel and gave her hand a little squeeze. 

She squeezed back and tried her best to flash me a smile, but it didn’t really work. 

We were received by a hoard of doctors when we arrived at the hospital, and Greta was immediately escorted away for a final blood test and a final chest x-ray. 

I would have liked to go with her, but I wasn’t allowed in the x-ray room, so I had to settle for waiting outside. I sank down on one of the plastic chairs and silently begged that this was really happening.   
That the heart was suitable. She had waited so long for this. We had waited so long for this. 

“Celine!” 

I looked up when I heard my mom’s voice. She was coming down the hall towards me. 

“Mom,” I said a bit meekly. 

She immediately gave me a hug. “Doctor Richardson told me it was time for Greta’s operation.” 

“They just took her away for the last x-rays and blood work,” I said as I returned the hug. “But aren’t you at work right now?” 

She shook her head. “Doctor Rawlinson is filling in for me. I’m going to stay here with you.” 

I took her hand and squeezed it tightly. 

“Doctor Richardson is an excellent cardiologist,” mom said and returned the squeeze. 

“I know he is,” I muttered. 

We sat down in the uncomfortable plastic chairs again. I couldn’t help but tap my foot up and down as I waited for doctor Richardson to come out with either bad news or good news. The heart could still   
become unsuitable at the very last minute, and if that happened, the transplant would be cancelled. 

Please, let it be a match. Please, let everything go smoothly. Please, please, please. 

I felt sick as we sat there and waited. 

It felt like fucking ages before a door opened, and doctor Richardson came into the waiting room. 

“Miss Welles. Doctor Welles,” he acknowledges and nodded to my mom. 

“So?” I said as I leapt out of the chair. 

“It’s a match,” doctor Richardson said. 

“Are you serious?” 

He nodded. “You can see miss Adams before the operation. Through the door and to your left.” 

I immediately went through the door and jogged down the hall until I found the right door. My heart was pounding in my chest. This was really happening. Greta was having the lifesaving surgery right   
now. 

I had never felt more relieved and scared in my entire life. It was an odd mixture of both. 

I quietly knocked on the door and then slinked inside. 

Greta was sitting in the hospital bed. She was wearing one of those flimsy hospital gowns with strings in the back, one of those blue, plastic-y hairnets over her curls, and her forehead was wrinkled in   
concern. 

“You look nice,” I told her. 

She snorted quietly. “Yes, ravishing, don’t you think?” 

“Very.” I said completely seriously. Hospital gown or red lace, it didn’t matter. Greta looked good no matter what. 

“How are you feeling?” I asked dumbly and immediately cringed. 

“Like I’m going to be sick,” Greta said matter of factly. 

I let out a dry little chuckle at that. “That’s very understandable.” 

Greta stretched her hand out towards me. “Come here.” 

I immediately did as requested and came closer to her. I interlaced our fingers, and she squeezed a bit. She took my other hand in hers and brought both my hands up to her lips. She brushed a light kiss   
over my knuckles. “I want you to know-“ 

“Nope,” I interrupted firmly and shook my head. “Nu-uh. We’re not doing this, Greta. We’re not making an “in case I die”-speech. I won’t allow it.” 

“You won’t allow me to die, or you won’t allow me to make a speech?” she said and tried her best to sass. 

“Both.” I said, still firmly. 

She shook her head a little. “Céline...” 

But I interrupted her again. “We don’t need to tell each other how we feel, Greta. We already know.” I took a breath. “You already know how much I love you. And you already know that I would walk through hell for you. And cross countries.” I laughed a little and the last part. 

She kissed my knuckles again. 

“See?” I said gently. “You already knew that didn’t you?” 

She nodded a little and her fingers wandered from my hands to my wrist. “And I don’t have to tell you that meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me. You already know that.” 

Despite my insistence that this was not a goodbye speech, my throat still constricted almost painfully. “Aren’t we lucky we don’t have to tell each other all that? And you know what I don’t need to tell you either?” 

“What?” she asked and gave my wrist a little squeeze. 

I pried one hand out of her grasp and ghosted my fingertips over her cheek. “That my life began the night I met you at that bar.”

She smiled a little, shook her head like she couldn’t believe her own ears. 

“I love you,” I said. “And you’re going to be fine.” 

“Ever the hopeful,” she commented and patted my hand lightly. 

“Nope, just predicting the obvious,” I said. “When you’re all recovered from surgery, I’m taking you to Canlis. You know? That ridiculously expensive restaurant you’ve talked about.” I released her hands and turned away from her for a moment to collect myself. 

“If I make it out of surgery, I’ll marry you.” 

I spun around and almost tripped over my own feet. “What did you just say?” 

“In a few years,” Greta immediately amended. “You are much too young to get married.” 

“Did you just...... Did you just fucking propose to me?” 

“No. I said in a few years. That’s not the same as a proposal.” 

“Uhh, yes, it is,” I said. “You said you wanted to marry me!” 

“Is there any chance you are willing to write it off as anxiety?” 

“Not in a million years,” I chuckled. 

She shook her head. “Forget I ever said anything.” 

“Never,” I said and laughed a little. “The minute you wake up from surgery, I’ll be right there, reminding you of what you promised me.” 

“I didn’t promise you anything, Céline.” 

“Yes, you did.” I closed the distance between us and kissed her cheek. “And I don’t need to tell you what my answer is. You already know.” 

She shook her head again. “You’re too young to get married.” 

“You’re not,” I teased. 

I earned myself a roll of her ice blue eyes at that. 

Then the door to her room opened, and a nurse came inside. “Miss Adams? Everything is ready and prepared.” 

“Very well. I suppose all you need is a prepared patient then,” Greta said as she lied down in the bed. 

Another nurse came into the room and she and “nurse one” rolled Greta and the bed out of the room. 

I followed them down the hallway. I would have followed them into the operating room had I been allowed.

Greta looked paler and paler and by the time we reached the door, she actually did look like she was going to be sick in a moment. 

“I love you,” I told her. “And I’ll see you when you get back.” 

“I’ll try not to be late,” Greta quipped halfheartedly. 

“You better not.” I ignored the nurses existence and bend slightly to capture her lips. 

She immediately returned the kiss. 

“I love you.” I said again. 

“I love you too,” she said. 

And then she was gone. Rolled into surgery where I couldn’t be with her. 

My knees felt like jelly, and my mom gripped onto my shoulder. “She’ll be fine, Celine. Doctor Richardson is an expert in this type of surgery.” 

“I know,” I said meekly as I sank back onto the hard plastic chair. 

After a few moments, “nurse one” came out and informed us that “Miss Adams is sleeping now, and we’re getting ready to perform the surgery.” 

Perform the surgery. They made it sound like something trivial. A routine case.

There was nothing routine about Greta’s heart. 

I shifted on the seat. I was already uncomfortable and reminded myself that it was too early for that. I was gonna sit here for many, many hours. 

I could damn well be uncomfortable later. 

The surgery was gonna take a long time, and both the nurses and my mom had gently suggested that I went home and took a nap in the meantime, but I had plain refused. I was gonna be here when Greta   
woke up. Like I had promised her. 

If I do recover from surgery, I’ll marry you. 

Had she been serious? 

I couldn’t be sure. You never knew when it came to Greta, but she had sounded fairly genuine. 

I tipped my head back against the wall and listened to my frantic heartbeat. I tried to imagine it. Saying “I do” to Greta in a few years. The fantasy came shockingly easy to me. I could actually see that   
happening. I could see myself marrying her. 

I wanted to marry her. I had never considered it until now, but of course I wanted to marry her. Another symbol that it was going to be her and me forever? I would take it. 

“Are you sure I can’t drive you back to the houseboat, honey?” Mom asked and touched my shoulder once more. 

I shook my head violently. “No. I want to be here when she comes out of surgery. I promised her.” 

“She’ll not be awake right away, Celine. And she’ll need you to be well rested.” 

“Then I’ll sleep here,” I said stubbornly. “I’m not leaving the hospital until she’s out of surgery, mom.” 

“Okay.” Mom patted my shoulder lightly. “Then at least let me find you a cup of coffee.” 

“Coffee would be nice,” I said and flashed her a tiny, wobbly smile. 

Another pat to my shoulder, and then she went down the hallway to find the coffee. 

I tried to stall my breathing as I looked at the big clock on the opposite wall. The operation had started by now. A heart-lung-machine was breathing for Greta right now. It was strange, knowing that she   
wasn’t breathing on her own right now. 

She’ll be fine. Of course she will. She’s strong. The strongest person I know. 

She would recover from surgery and I would take her back to the houseboat and care for her. Make sure she would recover fully. I would be by her side all the time. Right now, the University meant very   
little to me. I could study from home. Greta was the most important right now. Everything else was insignificant. 

As long as Greta was okay. 

My heart thrummed uncomfortably in my chest, and I felt as though it was mocking the situation. 

Could I give her my own heart, I would. 

My hands curled into fists. There was so many factors. So many little things that could go wrong behind those closed door. Blood loss. A new heart that didn’t beat like it was supposed to. I had done my   
utmost to stay optimistic. But that had been during The Wait. Now, that the surgery was happening, my brain seemed to come up with all sorts of scary scenarios. 

Stop it, I scolded myself. She’ll be fine. She has to. We’re not done yet. My shared history with Greta Adams was not done, and there was no way it was gonna end like this. I wouldn’t allow it. 

“Celine?” 

I looked up. Mom was standing in front of me. 

“Coffee?” she offered gently and held out the cup towards me. 

“Thanks,” I muttered and took the cup from her. My hands were trembling, and my cheeks were wet. When had I started crying? Maybe I had been doing it all along. 

“Oh, honey.” Mom said as she sat down next to me. Her hand was on my shoulder again. 

I took a sip of the hot coffee, and my voice trembled as I said: “I’m so scared, mom.” 

“I know,” she said, and her arm wrapped around me, squeezed me slightly. 

“And it’s silly,” I said with a little headshake. “Because I know she’ll be okay. She has to be.” 

Mom didn’t say anything. She simply squeezed me again. 

And I was actually grateful that she didn’t just parroted me with “of course she’s gonna be fine”-nonsense. I was optimistic, but I also knew all the many factors. I knew how many risks there were involved with this type of surgery. 

Optimistic, yet realistic. 

I took another sip of my coffee. My knuckles turned white as I clutched the cup between my fingers, holding on to it like it was some sort of anchor. 

That first cup of coffee didn’t last long. I gulped the hot liquid down in top speed. Mom fetched me a second cup.

I gobbled it down just as fast. 

But I took it a bit slower once I reached my third cup of coffee. If I kept up this pace, I would probably end up puking all over. And I wasn’t particularly interested in that. 

I texted Hannah and Michelle to let them know that Greta was undergoing surgery right now. Michelle couldn’t come home. She was currently in Spain, but Hannah immediately offered to come over to the hospital. I thanked her for the offer. Told her that I really appreciated it, but I was alright. My mom was here. I wasn’t alone. She didn’t have to put everything on pause. I knew that she was currently studying for a very important exam. 

Hannah instructed me to text her the moment Greta was out of surgery, and I promised to do so. 

I took another sip of my coffee. It was warm, but I couldn’t taste it. Not really. And my mouth felt completely dry. Something was swirling in my stomach, and I kept worrying that it would spill over and I would puke all over the floor. 

My knuckles turned white as I clutched the cup tighter. I had never really paid much attention to religion, but now I found myself praying to whatever god was out there. If there was one. Please, if you just pay the littlest bit of attention, let Greta make it through this operation. Let her live. Let everything be okay. She’s not done living. And I’m not done with her. We need more time. 

I closed my eyes as I tipped my head back against the wall. Let her be okay, let her be okay, let her be okay. 

As I sat there with my eyes closed, I could suddenly see it all. A pair of soft lips lightly grazing my cheek as the beautiful stranger came to my aid in a bar. A voice stopping me. Slender fingers handing me a dropped key. A busstop on a darkened night where there was made room for me under a big umbrella. Surprisingly strong hands gripping my upper arms and preventing me from slipping on the wet buss floor. 

A panic attacked soothed by a soft, velvet voice in a crowded elevator. Slender fingers gently wrapping around my wrist to calm me down. A “forgotten” book left at a swimming pool. The smell of pineapple lingering on the pages.

A forbidden kiss shared in a Mercedes. Oh, honey, you don’t wanna do that. 

A room at hotel Ballard. The promise not to think anything of it. Cold fingers roaming on my body. 

Drunken accusations. Passing out on a red velvet couch. The promise not to come back. 

Two more hotel rooms. More promises not to make anything of it. Lips against lips. Soft curls tickling my skin.

An argument that ended with a girl leaving her mother’s house. An argument that ended with the girl calling the only person she could think of. Her nightly savior. 

The girl was rescued. The girl was brought to a safe place. A houseboat. Another kiss shared. 

Five days in paradise. Five days where the lines blurred. The girl realizing that this wasn’t just a fling or something forbidden. She was in love. 

Parting ways with the promise to see each other again. 

A date in a Ferris wheel. Tired eyes concealed by sunglasses and a wide brimmed hat. 

Disaster striking. A half-empty houseboat. Seattle wasn’t the fresh start I had hoped for. I’m leaving. 

Revelations. Shouting. I’m sick! 

Two fates connected in the most impossible way. Two fates intertwined one foggy night on Madison Street. Metal colliding with metal. 

Shock and then hopefulness. Telling her to stay. Hotel Ballard again. Skin against skin. Lips against lips. Hidden tears shed.

A letter with a goodbye so heartbreaking, the girl almost crumbled under it. 

A month of darkness. A month of nothingness. Numbness. 

A decision made. A hasty departure. The plan to follow her. 

My body was going stiff as I sat there, in the uncomfortable plastic chair. The coffee in the cup was going lukewarm. 

One more hotel. The last hotel. Renewed hope. A drive through the mountains. A cabin in Verbier. An entire month of utter bliss.

Two years of bliss. Sure, there had been rough days as well, but none of them had been bad enough to erase all the good days. 

Two years, and I already had so many memories with Greta. Two years wasn’t enough. Please, I’m begging you, whoever is out there or up there, give us more time to make more memories. Please,   
please, please. 

I took a sip of the coffee. It wasn’t even lukewarm anymore. It was cold. 

Mom was still sitting next to me, and now that I finally looked up, she flashed me a little reassuring smile. 

I returned the smile. Or, I tried. I feared it was mostly just a nervous grimace. 

She reached put and put a hand on my shoulder again. I patted her hand lightly. My tongue felt like a dried up leaf in my mouth. She didn’t mind that. Didn’t try and have a conversation with me. I was   
grateful for that. I was afraid I would throw up if I opened my mouth. 

Please, please, please, let Greta be okay. 

Four hours. It doesn’t seem like much, does it?

Four hours is a short span of time for the busy student who reads up on a big test. Four hours is a short span of time for the adult whose day is full of chores. 

But for the child who impatiently asks, “are we there yet?” four hours is an unbelievable concept. 

And for someone who is sitting in a waiting room, desperately waiting for news, four hours is agonizing. Four hours is a life time. 

I don’t know how I did it. I don’t know how I managed. Four hours where I didn’t budge from the spot. Four hours where I barely moved a muscle and kept my gaze fixated on the white door. The door   
Greta’s bed had been rolled through. They were replacing Greta’s heart behind that door. 

Her precious, tired heart. 

The heart I had fought so hard to find a way to. The heart she had finally opened to me. 

Something wet prickled on my cheeks, but I didn’t bother wiping them. Why should I?

After four hours and ten minutes, the waiting was getting unbearable. 

“It’s been over four hours,” I said. My voice was raspy. I hadn’t said a word for several hours. 

“I’m sure we’ll hear something very soon, Celine,” mom said and took my hand. 

I nodded, but I could feel the bile swirl around in my belly again. Delayed. They were delayed. And that could only mean one thing. Complications. Something had happened. Something was delaying   
things. 

Oh, god, her new heart isn’t beating like it’s supposed to. They can’t get it to beat. She’s bleeding. She’s loosing blood. I’m loosing her. 

My breath became ragged.

“Celine,” mom said and her grip on my hand became tighter. “Look at me.” 

I forced myself to look up. To look at my mom. 

“Sometimes operations takes a bit longer,” she said gently. “It doesn’t necessarily mean that something is wrong. Do you hear me?” 

I nodded. 

“You should go home and rest,” she said softly. “Sleep a little. I’ll stay here and wait. And I’ll call you the moment I hear anything.” 

“No,” I said and shook my head. “I’m not leaving her. I’m okay, mom. I am.”

She didn’t look convinced but didn’t press the matter. 

I shifted on the chair. Stretched my legs a little. They felt stiff. The muscles in my lower legs were cramping. I reached down and rubbed the spot harshly. Looked at the big clock again. Tick, tock, tick,   
tock. The minutes were ticking by. Why is nothing-

“Miss Welles? Dr. Welles?” 

My aching muscles screamed in protests as I jumped up from the chair. “Yes?” I answered for both my mom and me. “How is she?” I asked the nurse. “Is she okay? Where is she? Is she awake?” 

“We’re done with the operation. The new heart started beating right away. It wasn’t necessary to give Miss Adams shocks,” she nurse said. 

It felt as though something heavy detached from my chest, and I puffed the air out roughly. “Can I see her?” 

“She’s barely awake yet, but-“ 

“I want to see her,” I interrupted. “Please?” 

The nurse frowned slightly, but then nodded. “Alright. But only for a few minutes. Follow me.”

I followed the nurse down the hall and through a yellow door. 

“Only for a few minutes,” the nurse warned again as she drew a curtain back. 

I nodded silently. 

There she was. Greta. Lying behind the curtain. Surrounded by machinery that made “bleep-bleep”-sounds. There was a tube in her mouth, tubes sticking out of her chest, a thinner tube in her wrist, some sort of catheter in her neck. Two wires near the bottom of her chest. Another, more traditional catheter, and then of course all the tubes that provided her with medicine for the pain. Pale cheeks and closed eyes. But alive.

“Why is she restrained?” I croaked and pointed shakily towards the strips tying her wrists loosely to the bed. 

“It’s just a precaution, miss Welles,” the nurse said patiently. “When she wakes up, she might try and pull at the tubes. The restraints will be removed once she’s fully awake. It shouldn’t be too long. We’ve   
already eased the anesthesia.” 

I nodded. My knees trembled as I sat down on the edge of her bed. She was surrounded by machinery and draped in different tubes, but she still looked like Greta. Like she was peacefully asleep. 

Someone had removed the hairnet, and her chestnut curls were spreading out on the pillow. 

“Can she hear me?” I asked as I reached out and touched her hand. I couldn’t hold it because it was restrained, and I had to fight the urge to free her hands from the restrains. 

“She can hear you,” the nurse confirmed. 

I turned my attention back to the sleeping Greta. “You made it,” I told her. “There is no getting away from me now. You’re stuck with me.” I shifted a bit and stroked her cheek. “I hope you’ll wake soon. I   
need to see those beautiful eyes of yours.” 

For a moment there was no reaction. Only deep sleep. But then I saw her hand twitch. 

“I think she’s waking up. Please stand aside for a moment, Miss Welles,” the nurse said professionally as she pressed the red button above Greta’s bed. 

The grey door behind us opened, and Dr. Richardson came inside. He paid little attention to me as he bent over Greta’s bed. “Welcome back, Miss Adams. Just relax. The operation went well. The   
restraints will be removed from your hands in a moment, but it is important that you don’t touch the tubes, alright?” 

I couldn’t see Greta because Dr. Richardson was in the way, and Greta couldn’t exactly speak with the tube in her throat, but she must have made herself coherent somehow, because the nurse stepped   
back and said: “Miss Welles is right here.” 

Doctor Richardson stepped aside and allowed me back to Greta’s bed. I smiled a little as her saw her ice blue gaze. Her eyes were a little unfocused because of the anesthesia, but she clearly recognized   
me. 

“I’m right here,” I said and repeated what the nurse just had said. “And you’re okay. Just relax.”

She nodded. As best as she could. Her forehead wrinkled slightly as she saw all the tubes and machinery she was hooked up to. 

“We’ll remove the breathing tube in a few hours,” Doctor Richardson said. “And afterwards, we’ll monitor her ability to breathe on her own.” 

I wanted to stay with her, but after another few minutes, I was kicked out by the nurse. The patient had to rest, she said. 

I refused to go home, and after a few hours, I was allowed back into Greta’s room. 

“But only for a few minutes,” the nurse warned. “We’re removing the breathing tube very soon.” 

I held her hand again. After a few moments, Dr. Richardson and two nurses started circling around her, and I knew it was probably my cue to leave so they could remove the tube from her chest, but   
Greta’s grip on my hand tightened. 

“Can’t I stay?” I asked. “I don’t want to leave her.” 

The nurse frowned and lowered her voice as she said: “it’s not very nice to see.” 

“I don’t care,” I said firmly. “I’m going to stay.”

“We’re ready to remove the breathing tube,” Doctor Richardson said, and the nurse didn’t bother arguing with me. 

The removal of the breathing tube truly wasn’t nice to watch, but I didn’t care one bit about my own discomfort. My heart shattered for Greta as I saw how the doctor and nurses gradually pulled the tube   
out of her mouth. 

Greta wheezed as the last part of the tube was removed from her throat, and for a moment, it looked like she couldn’t breathe. Her lips turned blue. Her grip on my hand went lax. 

“She can’t breathe!” I hissed panicked to the nurses. “Do something! Put the tube back!” 

“Give her a moment, miss Welles,” Doctor Richardson said and then turned to Greta: “miss Adams? Miss Adams, you have to breathe. Deep, steady breaths. Come on. You can do it. In through your nose   
and out through your mouth.” 

A slight spluttering, as from an old engine trying to start. Wheezing. Too soft fingers barely wrapping around mine. I was about to open my mouth to ask the doctors to help her once more, but then I heard the most calming sound in the world. The sound of Greta breathing in and out. Rattled, at first, but after a few tries, the sound became steadier. More focused. 

“That’s it. Good.” Doctor Richardson praised. “Deep breaths. That’s better, isn’t it?” 

The grip on my fingers tightened a bit, and I puffed out a breath of relief when I saw Greta’s shoulders rising and falling slowly as she breathed in and out. 

“Good,” Doctor Richardson said again as he put his stethoscope to Greta’s chest and listened. 

I was kicked out again. And highly encouraged to go home and get some rest. 

I refused. Plain refused. 

I stayed at the hospital. I lost all sense of time as I waited to see Greta again. 

I ended up falling asleep in the plastic chair. When I woke, the nurse was standing in front of me, telling me that I was allowed to see Greta again. 

“Is she awake?” I asked as I followed the nurse through the grey door. 

“She is.”

Not only was she awake, but she was also sitting up in the bed, propped up with lots of pillows. And she was smiling at me. A tired smile it was, but a smile never the less.

“Hey,” I said and returned the smile. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve had a horrible encounter with a bus,” Greta rasped huskily. “And I fear I look like it too.” 

“You don’t,” I chuckled. “You look beautiful.” 

“Sweet talker,” Greta croaked hoarsely, but she was still smiling.

I chuckled again as I took her hand. “You made it out of surgery. You owe me a ring.” 

“Do I?” Greta said and leaned back against the pillow. “Yes, I suppose I do.” 

I brought her hand up to my hand and kissed it lightly. “I love you. So much.” 

“I know,” she rasped, and I felt every bit impressed. To think that she was able to sass after having underwent such a major operation. 

I kissed her palm this time. Relief was surging through me. The operation was done. I knew it wouldn’t be easy peasy from here, but never the less. 

I was allowed to be relieved. 

 

No complications followed. Greta quickly became a master when it comes to training breathing exercises, and cough when she was supposed to. There were no signs that her body was rejecting her new heart. Of course, there would always be a little risk, but right now, there was no apparent ones. 

After fourteen days, she was allowed to come home. She was not allowed to drive or lift anything, and rest was still going to be a major part of her routine. She had to be watched closely and come in for regular checkups. She wasn’t allowed to be left alone. Someone had to watch her. Me. And I willingly did that. It was going to be a major adjustment for the both of us, and it would be at least six months before Greta would feel her old self. 

But I would be there every step of the way and help her. 

 

“First hurdle,” I said to her as I gently buttoned her pajama shirt and then helped her lie down on the red velvet couch.

“Mmm,” she nodded tiredly. “It’s good to be home again.”

“It’s good to have you home again,” I said and gave her forehead a light peck. Then her lips. 

She returned the peck, and then shot me a look. “Why don’t you go upstairs and take a nap, Céline? You look like you could need it.” 

“I’m staying here with you,” I dismissed and quickly found the thickest blanket the houseboat had to offer. Gently, I draped it over her to make sure she wouldn’t be cold. Then I dragged the nearest chair   
over to the couch, so I could sit close to her. 

“I’m robbing you of your sleep.”

“No, you’re not.” 

She smiled a little. “Ever the stubborn one.” 

“You know it,” I chuckled. 

“Will you ever stop hassling me?” she joked. 

“Nope,” I told her. “I’m actually counting on becoming the next Mrs. Adams someday.” 

“After you’ve turned twenty five,” Greta said sternly. 

“Yeah, yeah. You and your rules,” I chuckled. 

She laughed hoarsely. “Oh, believe me, mon ange. It’s a long time since I last connected you and I with any rules.” 

I smiled widely at that. “I’m glad. I’ve never liked rules.” 

”Rules exists to be broken,” Greta quipped.

“Mmm. At least when it comes to you and me.” 

Greta shook her head a little, laughed quietly, and then murmured: “If you don’t want to sleep, you should at least do something sensible.” 

“I am doing something sensible. I’m watching over you.” 

She shook her head vaguely and then chuckled hoarsely again. 

“What is it?” I asked a bit confused. 

“It’s just been so long since I last was able to breathe on my own. Without any oxygen or help.” 

“Oh.” I said and nodded a little. 

“Come listen,” she said quietly. She would probably have gestured, had she been allowed to move her arms that much.

I quickly rose from my chair and crouched down in front of her. 

“Feel it,” Greta encouraged, and her soft, warm fingers wrapped loosely around my wrist as she gently brought my hand up.

I did as instructed, and I smiled widely at her as I felt it. 

“Can you feel it, mon Coeur?” Greta asked as she placed her hand on top of mine. 

“Mmm,” I said. “I sure can.” 

And I could. The slow, steady beat. The quiet lub-dub-dub-lub-dub-dub. 

I looked up at her again. The woman I loved. We didn’t need any words right now. We just sat here and listened to the most soothing sound in the world. The best sound imaginable. The sound I would forever cherish and be grateful for.

The sound of her heart. This new heart, she had opened for me without hesitation.

I smiled up at her. There would be more hurdles along the way, I knew that. But I also knew that we could face them. As long as we were together, we could do anything.

I would be with her. Through it all. 

I took her hand. Me and her. Overcoming what ever hurdle life decided to throw at us. 

One day at a time. 

Greta met my gaze and squeezed my hand. The hand that was still resting over her heart. 

 

 

The End


End file.
